Galactic War: Book 5: Invader
by ELF Commando
Summary: Recent Intel reports that Grievous is planning to invade Kuat, the GAR's top Navy manufacturer. ELF Commandos & Varactyl Clan are sent to counter the CIS attack, & run into a group of sith fanatics whose goal is to destroy the planet from the inside out.
1. Prologue

✶ Extraction from the private journals of ELF-1993 ✶

**Approx. 11 weeks since the Battle of Geonosis: Entry #1**

_ "Do you think we'll meet any pretty girls during our deployment?" Rez asked me as we were priming our blaster rifles._

_ "Don't count on it," I answered. "Pretty girls don't belong in war. Jedi Commander ell Talaan is probably just another middle-aged man that's dissatisfied with the regular troops."_

_ "Of course our lot would be among the geriatrics," Rez griped._

_ Of course, both of us didn't know it, but I was wrong. Women ––– even lovely, principled women ––– can end up in ugly places during times of conflict. Beauty is not a free pass out of a war; often, it is beauty that causes one._

_ We are standing in formation, rifles nestling snugly against our shoulders. As usual, our armor shines an immaculate white. I guess we look impressive, but I don't feel impressive at all. Just scared. _

_ There are twenty of us in the squad. I am the only one from the Carnivore batch; the rest all hail from various squads. We are a mutt group, scraped together from all different batches. Some of us aren't even the same age; I am the oldest, at seven years old, while Rez is only five and a half. We are much, much shorter than the troopers in formation behind us, but at least we all know how to line up properly._

_ I'm not scared because I'm about to go into a battle; I have been in enough combat simulations ––– both live fire and with blanks ––– to know how to survive in a fight. What I am really afraid of is meeting our new commander. He is a Jedi, and though I have heard some reputable things about that group, they are supposedly sorcerers. There are rumors that they can kill you just by looking at you funny, and though I'm not a superstitious sort, I don't disregard the warnings to watch out for Jedi._

_ The trainers on Kamino were tough ––– they nearly killed you so that you would be able to survive in a battle. What's the good in that, to try to kill someone so that they'll learn how to live? But I've never met a Jedi; how do I know that our Jedi Commander isn't going to be ten times as mean as my trainer on Kamino?_

_ Delta ––– the brother standing to my right ––– stiffens noticeably as our Captain Ember appears on the balcony above us. _

_ "Here he comes," Rez says into the helmet communications headset that we use for private conversations within the squad. To outsiders, it may appear that we are silent soldiers, but we really talk quite a bit. Especially Rez._

_ Skipp follows Ember out onto the platform, and then Commander ell Talaan comes out, too._

_ "Sithspit, that's a female," Cor says into the link._

_ He's right; Commander ell Talaan is a human woman, standing only slightly taller than Ember, and dressed in discreet black. She looks out over the balcony, and says some words to us all. I can hear her, but I'm too shocked about her being a woman to take much notice of what she's saying. _

_ "Yes ma'am!" Everyone shouts, and I add my voice to the chorus, though for all I know she just asked us if we were idiots._

_ Now Ember and Skipp have removed their helmets, which is completely against trooper protocol, but perhaps she commanded them to do so. Most beings are uncomfortable if they can't see a person's face. Maybe that's why people are afraid of us ––– we're always hiding behind our shiny white armor._

_ Ember and Skipp have taken the Jedi down to the floor. Now she's walking toward us. I hear several of my brothers swallow in the comlink. As she approaches, I not only begin to realize that she's not only a woman, she's just a mere slip of a girl, barely older than sixteen. She's walking down the line, now, her blue gaze seeming to pierce through our helmets and see the people within. I can't tell if she's pleased with us or not. _

_ She's a very pretty girl. Loose blond hair, blue eyes to match, and freckles. The only thing on her that screams "Beware!" is the lightsaber clipped to her belt. I can't believe this. A little girl, commanding a legion all by herself? This can't possibly be true; it is much more likely that she's just one of Commander ell Talaan's students. A Padawan, I think is what they call it. Yes, this must be it; this girl is just a Padawan. Not our Commander._

_ "I am the captain of the elite squad, if you haven't noticed, ma'am," Ember says. "Skipp specializes in ship maintenance ––– he's the executive command bridge officer. There are twenty total in the squad, Commander."_

_ The girl nods, folding her arms across her chest. "As the special force, you are my personal escort, so you'll be seeing a lot of me. That means that now is a good time to get introduced to each other. Commander Adriaan ell Talaan. Preferably addressed as 'Ma'am' or 'Commander' but 'Master' and 'Sir' will do, too. Name and designation, please!"_

_ Fierfek. So this is not ell Talaan's Padawan, after all. She truly is our Commander. _

_ Even the private comm is silent in my helmet. The chatter that usually goes on between the members of the squad has been effectively silenced by the girl. They are all just as shocked as I am. _

_We knew that some women were warriors, but we had never seen one before, and we certainly never imagined a female warrior to look like this. A little girl. Who would drag a little girl into a war? Are the adult Galactic citizens too lazy, scared, or busy to take command themselves? _

_ Where are the adults in this war? Even us clones aren't grown ups, though we all have adult bodies. But that's only because we were genetically altered so that we would grow up faster. I guess that I'm a child, too, so I shouldn't be so shocked that a teenage girl is commanding my squad. _

_ She's walking down the line now, asking for our names ––– our _names_, not our numbers. That's significant. Most officers think we don't have names. But we do, just like a slave or a pet has something its owner calls it by. We may be just clones, but we still have individual names, just like everyone else._

_ She has us take off our helmets so that she can see our faces. As I pop the seal and take off my "bucket" she stops by me, and she looks me straight in the eyes. Her eyes are very blue, with gold flecks in them. They look so innocent, but to my surprise, there is no fear in them. She isn't cocky, she's just…confident. Hopeful that the war will end soon._

_ "What is your name?" the girl ––– I'd better call her Commander now ––– asks. Her voice is very pleasant ––– not high-pitched, not too deep. A little boyish. It's the type of voice you can easily hear over the noise of tanks firing and bodies running and men screaming and blasters firing and the ground exploding beneath your feet. It is the voice of an officer that's not afraid to stick it out with her men in the front lines._

_ As I return her gaze, I know that, little girl or not, I'm going to like Commander ell Talaan a lot._

_ "My name is Wolf," I say._


	2. Chapter 1: Sergeant Sargent

**Hello readers! Welcome to book 5 of the _Galactic War _series. After you read, please feel free to review. Your feedback is appreciated! **

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Star Wars, _nor did I develop Mando'a. However, most characters and some planets and creatures are of my own creation. **

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Chapter 1

_"One is worth all. We must do all we can to save a life, even if we die trying." – _Ruru Xelan

✶ Hangar Bay of the VICTORY, 390 days ABG ✶

SCRAMBLE LINE LIGHTNINGSTRIKE FIGHTERS.

ALL FIGHTERS REPORT IN TO THEIR WING COMMANDER: LIGHTNINGSTRIKE OBJECTIVE COMPLETED. REPEAT, REPUBLIC FLEET PREPARING HYPERSPACE JUMP. ALL FIGHTERS RETURN TO STATIONS. REPEAT, DISENGAGE AND RETURN.

THAT IS ALL. LIGHTNINGSTRIKE OUT.

"Attention, crew members of the _Victory, _attention. This is your naval commander speaking. All personnel report to the bridge for AAR. Fleet preparing to give Commander Tem Air Support. Repeat, next designation Htrae System."

"All pilots from Beta Squadron, congratulations on securing another GAR victory. We've got those tinnies on the run! To celebrate your valor in this campaign, the crewmembers on the _Victory _RPC in the mess hall for a complimentary victory meal. Copy, report to your wing commander and go to the mess hall for some grub, courtesy of _Victory's _military personnel. Ready and Able, that's the GAR Navy!"

When CT-1374 stepped down to the deckplates of the _Victory's _hangar bay, it was as if he had just intruded upon a new, exotic and totally alien world. Yellow-uniformed crewmembers, plodding plunk droids, whistling R2 units, clone pilots in white armor decorated with Beta Squadron's purple-and-gold insignia, and various ship models: dogfighters, recon craft, bombers, trooper carriers, interdicters, diplomatic transports ––– the bay was alive with activity and far from empty. If it weren't for the docking bay's airlock ––– windows which looked out into the cold depths of space ––– the place could've very well been its very own little city.

A man from Beta Squadron marched by, helmet in hand, and CT-1374 smiled a friendly greeting at him. The pilot grinned back, and except for the strange K-shaped scar just above his eyes, his face was identical to the one CT-1374 saw in the mirror every morning. If someone took a second look around the hangar, it would be very likely that the person would notice four, ten, fifty-five, or even three thousand faces that looked exactly the same.

The reason for this was that the majority of the soldiers in the Grand Army of the Republic ––– including CT-1374 ––– were clones. Unfortunately, having the same face as millions of other people was probably the least troubling oddity of CT-1374's biological makeup. For example, due to genetic tampering, the clone lived half as long as a regular human being. He grew up twice as fast, too, which explained why he had a teenager's body at only six and a half years old. He also didn't have a mother, a verity which caused him much anxiety. But perhaps the most disturbing characteristic of CT-1374 and his clone brothers was the reason they ever even existed, and that was to kill, to fight in a war that had nothing to do with them. They were an army that had been ordered and purchased by the Galactic Republic, a government which was apparently antislavery. Well, if they were against slavery, how come they thought it was okay to _buy _an army of human beings?

The fact that they were the property of the Galactic Republic wouldn't have been so bad if the Republic had at least made a plan for what to do with the clones in the future, after the war. CT-1374 knew he really wasn't going to live very long, anyway, but he would like to have at least basic civil rights; if not now, then after his retirement from the military. Clones were not citizens, so they were not allowed to vote, and they were denied sentient rights such as healthcare for long-term or permanent injuries and illnesses, protection from undue hardships, credits as pay for their services to the GAR, leave, or even a place outside the barracks to live in. They didn't even own the armor and kit they dragged all over the galaxy, off and onto ships, in and out of battles. They had nothing but each other.

But enough of feeling sorry for himself. CT-1374 had to look on the bright side. His Jedi General had gotten him safely out of that blasted nebula, for one. Number two, the kid was comatose, so her mouth wasn't making noise like it usually did. Personally, CT-1374 didn't mind the Jedi Padawan's foolish and lighthearted chatter, as long as she wasn't prattling when he was doing something dangerous, such as setting live mines, manually deactivating a bomb with thirty seconds until detonation, or piloting in hazardous conditions.

The soldier gently lifted the unconscious girl in his arms and carried her through the hangar bay, ignoring the curious glances various pilots and crewmembers gave him. He looked around the bay, admiring the scarred, smoke-stained, chipped fighters docked in every available space. Even with their peeling paint, cracked cockpit bubbles, and blast-burned hulls, they looked sleek, graceful and elegant compared to CT-1374's clunky craft. It was really just an escape pod with its explosive-induced rockets rewired for makeshift sublight capability, but it had been the only available vehicle capable of transporting him and Jordin off Umbria, an unexplored planetoid interlocked within a tempestuous nebula.

Umbria. That uncharted, gray, barren, lifeless wasteland was more familiar to him than this crowded, complex little world inside a Republic vessel, for Umbria was where the rest of his squad, along with his Jedi General and her clan of Apprentices, were camping out. They had been recruited to find the Separatist General Grievous, who was reportedly hiding on Umbria, but one mishap had led to another, and they had ended up postponing the search until they could get back on their feet.

It had all started with their ship failing due to the atmospheric conditions in the nebula. Luckily, his Jedi General had crash-landed on their destination, instead of stranding them on some weird, airless, rocky asteroid or moon. The ship ––– minus its escape pod ––– had been destroyed in the crash, but they had decided to worry about off-planet transportation later.

Then one of the Jedi Apprentices had gotten attacked by some psycho bad Jedi person dressed in funky gold armor. After nearly getting her head blown off by a well-aimed detonator, the Padawan had been saved by her Master's quick reflexes. However, the young Apprentice hadn't walked away from the encounter unharmed; the proximity of the explosion had blown her eardrums and thrown her hard against a canyon wall. It was later discovered that the collision with the canyon gave her a serious concussion. Less than twenty-four hours after the attack, she began to show symptoms of critical traumatic brain injury. It had been imperative to get her off-planet immediately, and CT-1374 had been the one chosen for the job. Lately he had been regretting his decision to escort her; he hated the separation from the squad, he felt uncomfortable being out of action, and the girl's condition had worsened enough to make him fear that he would have to be the one to bring tidings of her death to her Master.

CT-1374 made it out of the hangar and immediately became lost in the rush of traffic in the large corridor. His confusion was noticeable enough, however, to attract the notice of a clone trooper who was on his way to report to his commander.

"Hey, you need help, trooper?" the clone yelled, taking note of CT-1374's rank and brigade insignia. "Hey, you're from the 503rd legion, aren't you? You gropos found Grievous yet?"

"Don't know…sir," CT-1374 replied, adding the "sir" upon observing that the trooper's rank was higher than his. "Got separated from my squad. I need to find the medical bay."

The clone nodded. "I've heard that your legion is a tough batch of grunts; I'll be happy to show you the med bay."

"Thanks, uh…" CT-1374 could see the trooper's number on his armor, but didn't call him by his designation, as was the custom. Most commanding officers used those numbers to address specific soldiers, but clones called other clones by their nicknames.

"Sargent," the clone prompted.

"I know that's your rank, sir, but…"

"Oh, yeah, Sargent's my name, too," Sargent said with a grin. "What's yours?"

"Oh, uh, Rez," CT-1374 ––– Rez ––– said. He was still trying to figure out why in the world the clone had chosen "Sargent" to be his nickname. "What'll you do when you're promoted to Lieutenant or something?"

Sargent shrugged. "Don't know; my philsophy is to worry about things when they come. It's highly probable that I will never get promoted. Doesn't pay to fret over events that may never happen, you know? Follow me."

Sargent knew the _Victory _well, and directed Rez to the medbay in almost no time at all. Waving goodbye to his new friend, Rez adjusted his grip on the child and entered the bay.

The smell hit him with the devastating intensity of an MG7 proton torpedo. The miasma of thousands of sick, bleeding, sweaty, exhausted bodies packed into a room was bad enough, but compounded with the odor of bacta, medicine, and sterilizing chemicals, it made Rez feel ill himself. He had always hated medical facilities; like an animal, if he thought it smelled funny, it put him on edge.

He sucked in his breath and marched bravely into the facility, searching for an unoccupied med droid that could assist him. Unfortunately, med droids always seemed to be busy, and having an overcrowded medical center didn't make the situation any better.

Presently, a droid noticed his predicament ––– no doubt because he was obstructing its path ––– and addressed him.

"Condition?" it asked succinctly, moving its sensors over him to check out his status.

"Not me; _her_," Rez said, indicating the redhead nestled in his arms.

The med droid took a look at her. "I am not authorized to treat civilians. My designation is to medicate soldiers of the GAR…"

"This _is _an officer of the GAR," Rez said with a touch of impatience.

"Identity?"

"Jedi Padawan of General ell Talaan, CO of Ade Verda Brigade. This is, ah, Sergeant Skraps."

The droid plugged in the information into its database. "There _is, _indeed, a Sergeant Skraps, though she does not appear to be in official command of any troops…"

"She co-commands the legion her Master is in charge of," Rez explained. "Now, can you please take her in for an examination? My squad medic diagnosed her with head trauma…"

"As you can see, the facility is very busy, so that would depend on the seriousness of her condition," the droid interrupted.

"As I was saying, a trained field medic diagnosed her with TBI."

The droid ran its sensors over the girl and nodded. "Affirmative. Proceed to Bay 3, table 772, for examination."

"Thank you for your assistance." Rez hurried to the specified location, dodging utility droids, medics, and walking wounded. He passed one table that had several surgical robots stationed around it, and he paused to see what they were doing. They were operating on a clone trooper with a skull fracture. The work was very bloody, and Rez ––– who wasn't normally queasy when he saw blood ––– decided to keep his eyes trained straight ahead after that.

Finally, he found the table, which was currently occupied by a clone that had been hit in the stomach. He was bleeding, but not profusely, thanks to the bacta strips the med droid was applying. Rez waited a little awkwardly by the table, trying not to be impatient with the wounded soldier. It wasn't the clone's fault he was in the way, after all.

"Okay, you're done. However, you aren't cleared for duty until your next checkup, which is three days from now. Keep those bacta strips on the wound. Next!" the droid called as the trooper was helped off the table by several relieved comrades. Rez had to wait a little longer to be released of his burden, though, as a cleaning droid mopped up the blood left behind. Finally, the table was sanitary enough for Rez to place the injured girl on it.

The medical robot finished cleaning its surgical appendages and reached out with its scanner. "Condition?"

"TBI: high ICP levels, gradual loss of speech, coordination, and consciousness. Anosocoria."

The droid checked out her status. "Front desk, are there any bacta tanks available?" it asked into its built-in communications device.

"Negative. Next tank available in approximately forty-eight hours," the comm buzzed in reply.

"She can't wait that long," Rez told the droid. "She needs medical attention _now_."

"She'll have to transfer to a different facility for full treatment," the droid said apologetically. "We will, however, have a shunt inserted to bring down ICP levels. We will also put her on a saline drip to stabilize her until bacta treatment is available. However, due to the Republic's current situation in the war, I advise you to take her to a facility better equipped to treat her. Patients with her condition are not expected to make a full recovery, and we are not authorized to keep a patient on life support for longer than forty-eight hours."

"What facility do you suggest?" Rez asked, keeping his tone neutral. He should be grateful that the droid was at least trying to be helpful.

"The Jedi Temple, of course. I am surprised that you brought her to a GAR facility in the first place. Let the Jedi take care of their own; my business is with injured Republic soldiers."

Rez didn't know anything about a Jedi-run medical facility. "They have a medical center?"

"The Jedi are reportedly skilled healers," the droid said. "Their kind are often deployed on dangerous missions, so they are no doubt injured frequently, despite the fact that they are capable warriors. I am positive that the Jedi will know how to take care of her."

"Can I leave her here until I find a transport available to take us to Coruscant?" he asked.

"I'm afraid not," the droid said. "The recent defeat at Charon has filled all GAR medbays to bursting with injured troops. I'm sorry to say that I can only bring down her ICP levels and put her on a saline drip. After I have done that, she must leave. Of course, I realize that she will need a place to go after she leaves this facility, so I will arrange a Republic medical frigate to take you both to Coruscant. I'm sorry that this is all we can offer."

Rez's fists clenched. This was ridiculous. If the medical facilities were all full, maybe the Republic should invest in creating larger, more accommodating medical centers. On the other hand, at least the droid had given him good advice, instead of just kicking Skraps out or offering to administer euthanasia.

There was hope, but Rez couldn't help but feel helpless as he allowed himself to be led back to the waiting area and stand by for the droid to finish stabilizing the Jedi Apprentice.

_Just hang in there, kid. I'll see that you get taken care of properly, even if it's the last thing I do._


	3. Chapter 2: The Goba Shag Embassy

**_Su'cuy! _Sorry I didn't publish this chapter yesterday; I was busy helping my family get ready for our superbowl party! Hope everyone enjoyed the game yesterday! **

**Thank you to the people who reviewed and/or added my stories to their fav list. My thanks is extended especially DragonRider2000 for her many encouraging comments. You guys are awesome! Now, here's the chapter I promised! **

**Disclaimer: _Star Wars _is not mine, nor is the Mandalorian culture and language. For those who would like to know, I loosely based Kuati off the Italian language, for no particular reason, other than I'm taking Italian for school. **

**Please enjoy, and I really hope you all review!**

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Chapter 2

_"Thanks to the efforts of Varactyl Clan and the ELF Commandos on the Separatist planetary base called Umbria, we have received Intelligence of an incoming Separatist invasion of Kuat, occurring in approximately two weeks time. The fleet is reportedly to be led by General Grievous, a top target of the GAR. After much deliberation, it has been decided that General ell Talaan and company will be assigned to prematurely counter the CIS invasion of Kuat, as well as investigate and crush a terrorist group that has reportedly formed on the planet." – _High Jedi Council, report K.127. Date: 402 Days ABG

✶ Kuat City, 0700 - 404 days ABG ✶

Kan knew when he stepped out onto the landing platform that he was going to absolutely hate this mission.

It sounded easy enough: infiltrate the Separatist spy or terrorist cell, figure out their plans, and thwart Grievous' invasion of Kuat before it actually happened. But Kan had learned from experience that the so-called "blue-milk runs" turned out to be the toughest assignments.

He didn't mind front-line campaigns so much ––– at least then he could see who his enemies were ––– but looking for bad guys on home turf was something he had little experience in.

But his Master, and her personally trained troops, formerly known as Shadow Squad, but re-christened as the Enforcing Front Line Commandos ––– acronym ELF Commandos ––– were totally psyched about getting a covert ops assignment.

"Now we can finally use those illegally procured disruptor rifles!" Cor had exclaimed enthusiastically upon hearing the news that they were being deployed to counteract the Kuat invasion by hunting down CIS agents.

Because they were supposed to crush the Sepper plan prematurely, no one besides the Senator of Kuat knew of the GAR's arrival. In order to hide their presence, both the Jedi and the clones had changed into civilian clothes ––– a fact that incessantly annoyed the ELFs, who were used to full protection from armor ––– and kept their weapons concealed. No lightsabers, no shoot first, ask questions later policy. They had to flush out Separatist spies hidden in a crowd of innocents…mere civilians, people who had probably never pulled a blaster in their entire lives. People who didn't realize just how easily they could be killed.

Not even their transport would betray evidence of the GAR's arrival. Kan looked affectionately at the sleek, chrome-plated, J-type Nubian skiff that lay majestically on the platform. Nicknamed the _Firesprite, _Adriaan had bought it sometime during their unauthorized vacation on Nubia. As a Jedi, Adriaan normally would have never been able to afford such a classy vehicle ––– after all, it was the same model used by the royalty of Naboo ––– but her Apprentice Klamin happened to have quite a bit of credits in his wallet, thanks to his former occupation as the advisor to the Queen of Syleeto.

Kan placed a hand on the _Firesprite, _thinking of how much his best friend, Jordin, would have liked it. Diagnosed with head trauma, the thirteen-year-old Jedi Apprentice was currently back at the Jedi Temple, in the hope that the Jedi medics would help her make even a partial recovery. Kan sincerely hoped that Jordin would get well, for two reasons: one, she was his best friend, and two, he desperately needed her to research classified information contained only in the Jedi Archives. Without this information, his Master's life could very well be in grave danger.

"Hey, Kan, c'mon!" Kay Lee ––– Padawan Commander of Twilight Regiment and the Alpha Apprentice of the Varactyl Clan ––– shouted, waving impatiently for him to come along. Kan sighed, reluctantly shouldering his survival pack and hurrying forward to catch up with his fellow trainees, who in turn were having a hard time keeping pace with his Master.

Adriaan ell Talaan hardly fit the description of a Jedi Knight and GAR General. Standing at about 1.7 meters tall, the lean, well-muscled seventeen-year-old walked with long, athletic strides, back slightly arched and hands held away from her sides –––– the "ARC trooper swagger" the soldiers in the Republic army called it, referring to the way the Advanced Recon Commandos walked. The straightness of her posture, her athletic body, and her businesslike demeanor were the only attributes that would betray her identity as a military officer. As for the rest of her appearance, she was dressed in a dark violet, sept-silk tunic with gold thread woven through, a Mandarin collar, and wide sleeves gathered at the wrists. Her pants were made of the same material, except they were black. Instead of boots, she wore soft slippers that matched her tunic. Instead of her battered utility belt, she wore a gold-colored sash wound around her waist. Her blond hair was cut according to the latest style among young Galactic citizens, and it blew loosely in the wind as she strode across the platform to meet Giddean Danu, the Senator of Kuat. A dark, grim human man dressed in clean white robes, the Senator bowed courteously in greeting.

"Welcome to Kuat City," he said gravely, looking very regal in his tall white hat. "As always, the Kuati are grateful for your presence here."

Adriaan nodded curtly by way of greeting. "Wait a second, how can the Kuati be glad that I am here if they do not know of my presence? Are you trying to tell me that our arrival has been noted by the populace?" she asked suspiciously.

"In this case, I represent my people," Giddean explained. "As far as I know, only I have been informed of the arrival of military support."

"Senator, please bear in mind that this is a public landing platform, not a confidential meeting room," Adriaan said, glaring at the service droids to make her point.

"Of course, Gen…I mean –––"

"Enough of the pleasantries," Adriaan said, smiling and extending her hand to the Senator as she assumed her disguise. "You may call me…Neela."

"Of course, Neela. I have an air taxi ready to escort you to my private office. We will discuss the funding of a subsidiary corporation on your planet later."

Adriaan nodded. Giddean, of course, knew the true reason why she was there, but to the public, she was Neela Rain, the ambassador of Queen Naa-ja of the planet Goba Shag, paying a visit to Kuat with the hopes of having KDY contributing to the construction effort of building a shipyard ring around her planet, an investment which would support trade business on Goba Shag as well as benefitting the Kuat company. Her Padawans were posing as various members of the Goba Shag court, while the clones were serving as her bodyguards. Kan thought it was the perfect disguise, but that was a biased opinion as he had come up with the idea himself…with a little help from Darc, of course.

Darc Chun-be was the only member of the team that was neither a clone nor a Jedi, though he had trained as a Jedi Apprentice at the same time Adriaan had been a Padawan. Due to a failed mission ––– which neither Adriaan nor Darc liked to talk about –––– Darc had left the Jedi Order to become the planetary military commander of the Goba Shag army. He had recently joined the squad during their assignment to find General Grievous, and though that mission had been completed a while ago, he had stuck with them, much to Adriaan's and Kay's annoyance. Adriaan had been holding a grudge against Darc for quitting the Order, and Kay hated Darc because he had the mistaken notion that she was madly in love with him.

But Kan and Klamin were happy that Darc had stayed, partly because Darc was funny ad kept them entertained, but mostly because he could help them in ways he was not aware of yet. He knew things about Adriaan that they needed to know as well.

They needed to talk to Darc because Adriaan wouldn't talk to them. She may or may not have realized it, but her habit of withholding information was endangering countless lives, including her own.

The data she was retaining concerned her best friend, Ra'hal Espera, and two men that had attacked the team while they were on Umbria. Kan didn't know much about them, but Klamin had told him what he knew of them.

Ra'hal was a Jedi Padawan at the same time as Adriaan and Darc, but she had fallen into the company of sith cultists, who eventually seduced her to the dark side and made her a mortal enemy of the Jedi. According to Adriaan, Ra'hal was dead, but Klamin wasn't so quick to believe that idea. General ell Talaan had been, after all, Ra'hal's best friend ––– Adriaan said so herself ––– so it was entirely possible Adriaan was protecting her friend from being punished for her crimes against the Jedi.

There were two cultists that were allegedly involved in Ra'hal's plot: Haak, whom Kan and Klamin knew very little about, other than the fact that Adriaan was terrified of him, and the strange Force-sensitive responsible for Jordin's head injury. Jordin's masked attacker was dead, but Haak and Ra'hal were still at large. If their Master wasn't going to do anything about it, then it was up to Klamin and Kan to figure out where they were hiding and what they were up to. That was why Kan had sent Jordin a note requesting her to do research in the Jedi Archives, and why Klamin wanted to interrogate Darc. If Adriaan wouldn't talk, then Archive files and Adriaan's former fellow trainee would have to supply the Intel in her place.

Normally, Kan wouldn't suspect Adriaan of deceiving him, but lately she hadn't been acting like a paragon Jedi Knight. Anyway, Klamin believed that she wasn't being entirely honest with them, and Kan trusted him because the Shi'Odo had been warned about Haak and Ra'hal by the legendary Night Falcon, a self-exiled Jedi who had trained Klamin on Zylxx before Adriaan had come to take him as her Apprentice.

"Come _on,_ Kan!" Adriaan yelled. Kan jumped and looked up to see that everyone had piled into the air taxi and was waiting for him. "Hustle, kid!"

When Adriaan said it was time to hustle, Kan knew then that he had to get moving immediately, or she would take off without him. His Master was like that. It didn't matter whether it was in the front lines of a battle, a crowded laserball stadium, or in the seediest bar in the underworld of Coruscant; if Adriaan told you to hustle and you didn't, she was gone in the next instant, probably taking your only ride home with her, too.

Kan slid in to the only empty seat remaining, which was, unfortunately, next to who was possibly the most ornery Jedi student in the Order.

Marya Yon was very beautiful with her golden skin, dark purple eyes, Zabrak cultural tattoos, and inky black hair. But her heart was harder than duracrete, and her temper shorter than a Wookiee's tail. Surprisingly, she was a good friend of the bright and cheerful Jordin Skraps, but she hated Kan. Therefore, Kan was hardly astonished that when he sat down next to her, Marya glared at him and scooted so far off her seat that she was literally sitting on Darc's lap.

"Whoa!" Darc said in surprise. "I must say, though I do consider myself to be rather dashing, Marya, this is rather unexpected for you to…"

Darc yelped as Marya's fist crashed into his face.

"I hate you," she said, punching each syllable into the air. "Don't ever assume otherwise."

"Sure. Whatever you say," Darc said, rubbing his face with his hands. A dark purple bruise that was the exact shade of Marya's eyes was forming underneath his right eye.

Kay snickered, tickled by the sight of her irritant getting slugged in the face by a fourteen-year-old girl, and Klamin looked across the row at Kan and grinned.

The rest of the trip was ––– relatively ––– quiet. Of course, with more than two dozen people in one vehicle, silence was impossible, especially so if Aedan and his wicked cohorts were among the occupants.

"RED LIGHT!" Aedan yelled, even though the traffic light showed green. The driver, startled at the shout, slammed on his brakes, to Aedan's immense glee and to his sister Andora's ultimate mortification.

"_Danaret! Parkaye managgi un'nescu!" _the taxi pilot cursed in Kuati.

"I am so contrite for my sibling's repugnant deportment," Andora apologized to the enraged pilot. Adriaan merely sighed and put a hand over her eyes; she had long ago given up apologizing for her Padawan Aedan's inappropriate behavior. Nevertheless, Andora felt it her duty to express concern for her brother's peccadillos. Andora was perhaps even more orthodox than the Jedi Council, never losing her patience and forever demanding perfection from herself, her fellow Padawans, and even her own Master. Kan knew he was going to feel sorry for the student Andora would choose to take as her Apprentice when she reached Knighthood. Sometimes it was hard to believe that Aedan and Andora had ever shared the same womb; pretty much the only thing they had in common was their uncompromising attitudes.

The air taxi driver, muttering many unrepeatable profanities at Aedan under his breath, wasted no time getting them safely to their destination, the Kuat Drive Yard government complex. Kan figured he probably got them there so quickly just to get rid of passengers whom he considered to be insane.

Adriaan didn't care if the driver thought they were lunatics; hopping out of the taxi, she tossed a large tip to the cab driver before Senator Danu could pay for the ride himself. No doubt the more than adequate fee was a sort of recompense for her Padawan nearly causing a speeder accident. Anyway, the driver's face brightened considerably once he had the neon credit chip clutched in his fist.

"Get out of the way, nerf herder!" Marya griped, prodding Kan in the back to get him moving. "You move slower than a pregnant Hutt!"

Kan really didn't see what her problem was, but nevertheless bit down the splenetic retort that rose to his lips, and meekly climbed out of the cab so Marya could get out.

"Humph." Marya didn't thank Kan for so promptly moving out of the way; instead, she rudely elbowed him in the ribs as she walked past him, determined to put as much distance between them as possible. She was definitely in a funk today; Kan hadn't even spoken five words to her, and she was already mad at him.

"Miss Yon!" Adriaan barked suddenly, stopping Marya in her tracks. "Tonight you will practice the Koré form fifty times before you go to bed."

Several of the Padawans winced. The Koré form was one of the longest, most tiring lightsaber routines ever invented. It was so exhausting that hundreds of Jedi students cringed out of habit if they simply heard someone whisper "Koré"

"Aw, why?" Marya complained. Though a practitioner of the tonfa saber ––– a challenging and unusual style of lightsaber combat ––– she was no fan of Koré, either.

"For saying, 'I hate you' to Darc, and for bullying your peers."

"What the brix…"

"Sixty times for talking back."

"Holy milking sith. Why the heck are you always picking on _me_? Kan was the one who was wasting all of our time…"

"Want to make it a full hundred?"

"Excuse the interruption, Neela, but my free time is limited," Giddean intervened politely.

Adriaan snapped out of Jedi-Master-disciplining-naughty-Apprentice mode. "Right. After you."

Giddean flashed his ID at the security guards stationed before the front entrance, who let them in after a brief wait. Recently elected as Senator of the Kuati, Giddean Danu was a conservative, pro-Jedi politician who opposed the Senate's decision to grant Chancellor Palpatine emergency powers. This brought him into conflict with his own people, who benefitted greatly from the war because it increased production in the Kuat shipyards. Kan wasn't politics-savvy; he had acquired this knowledge of Danu's political position and views from one of Adriaan's several pre-mission briefings. Personally, because Giddean was said to have a great respect for the Jedi Order, Kan liked the Kuati Senator. Adriaan, however, was not so biased.

"I decide if I like a person after I actually get to meet him," she had said. "I know the files say he's pro-Jedi, but Intel can be notoriously inaccurate sometimes."

Kan had then pointed out that their assignment was based fully on Intel. "What if we're just wasting our time? Grievous might be trying to lure us away from something. He might not be planning to invade at all. Or even worse, it could be a trap!" But his Master, as usual, had an answer for everything.

"I'm sure the other soldiers in the GAR can take care of things while we go check out Kuat. If we get to Kuat and it's a trap, then we'll have to find a way out of it. If he's not planning to invade, then very well, this is a waste of time. But let me ask you this: what if he _is _planning to invade Kuat? Then, indeed, our toil will not be in vain."

Kan hoped she was right.

Giddean Danu may not have been a very popular Senator, but his apartments were still comfortable and accommodating. Much better than the GAR barracks. As the solemn politician gravely ushered them into his private office, Kan looked around the room, admiring the simple yet elegant space. All the senators Kan had met were ostentatious, preferring showiness over style. Giddean, in contrast, worked in an average-sized office which was sparsely yet tastefully decorated, containing a bronze-colored desk, a yellow glowlamp which emitted a warm, soothing light; a few couches, and a datascreen.

"Please sit," Giddean said, gesturing toward the couches as he sat down at his desk.

Kan complied along with the others, taking a seat next to his Master's favorite ELF Commando, a clone known simply as Wolf.

"As the ambassador of Goba Shag, I thank you for considering our Queen's request to fund the building of an orbital shipyard array around the planet I represent," Adriaan began, sitting back on the couch and crossing her legs.

"As you well know, the principal of Kuat Drive Yards, Onara Kuat, has always taken a zealous involvement in the adding on of subsidiary companies in different systems all over the Republic. With this war going on, you can imagine we could use some more shipyards, to increase the rate of production," Giddean replied. "However, I am rather surprised that you chose to contact me instead of the principal director. Onara is the one who is in charge of KDY; I am simply a representative of the Kuati people in the Senate."

"I understand that, Senator. I would not have contacted you, but necessity demanded it. I have been trying to contact Onara Kuat for months now, but she has been too busy to return my calls. I do not take this as a personal affront, for I know that this is a busy time for KDY. I came to you because I know that you and Onara have to work closely, so of course it would be easier for you than for me to schedule an appointment with the principal director."

"It is true, Onara is very busy with the production of warships for the Grand Army," Giddean agreed. "Nevertheless, like any good Kuati, she always finds time to confer with her Senator. I will speak with her tomorrow, as you have entreated. In the meantime, please enjoy your stay in Kuat City. Shall I call an air taxi to escort you to your hotel?"

"Please, do."

Giddean pressed a button on his desk, and Adriaan suddenly tensed, as if she heard something.

"Security apparatus," Giddean explained to the Jedi. "Sound-dampening privacy device is now online. We can now speak freely."

Kan let out the breath he had been holding. At last, they could get down to business, instead of sitting around pretending to be interested in the planning and construction of an orbital shipyard.

Adriaan and the Padawans stood up on cue and bowed as one. "I am Jedi General Adriaan ell Talaan of Ade Verda Brigade, and this the Varactyl Clan, and these –––" she indicated the clones sitting behind her, "––– are the ELF Commandos. Thank you for keeping our arrival confidential, as you pledged prior to our deployment."

Giddean nodded. "I have always held a deep respect for the Jedi Order, and now I know why. I cannot begin to express my gratitude to you for your prompt arrival to combat the crisis that has befallen Kuat," he said gravely. "It is good that the Jedi Council has sent you here now to stop this before it gets out of hand."

"Please, fill us in on the situation," Adriaan said, frowning. "Elaborate on what you mean by 'before it gets out of hand' Have you been having trouble with General Grievous already?"

"I am not entirely sure it is the CIS who is attacking us, but we have been having various sorts of trouble cropping up over the past couple months," Giddean replied, steepling his fingers together, his face taking on a sagelike expression. Kan thought the Senator reminded him a little of Mace Windu. Like the Jedi Master, he was cool, composed, grave, and calculating. He also seemed to have a genuine respect for the Jedi Order, contrary to Adriaan's suspicions. _Take that, Adriaan! _Kan thought triumphantly. He was liking Senator Danu more and more each minute.

"What sort of trouble? Assault? Sabotage? Theft?" Adriaan inquired, her brow furrowed with concentration. "According to Intel, there is a CIS spy network already in operation here. Is there evidence of foreign infiltration, illegal surveillance, or espionage of any kind? Are they terrorists as well as spies?"

"It is not certain whether there is only one, or several organizations behind this. My first suspect is, of course, the Trade Federation, Kuat Drive Yards' top competitor. Neimodian officials have frequently expressed their desire to close us down ––– an endeavor which would take a terrible toll on the Republic army, as you well know. We have already taken measures to protect our facilities from espionage by increasing security, upgrading sector forces, and closing down part of the Hydian Way. Also, the Grand Army has placed warships along our star system border. However, I have my doubts that it is the Trade Federation behind this, after all. No, it has to be some organization led by people more cunning than the Neimodians."

"The Trade Federation, as we all know, is a supporter of the Separatist cause. They have been KDY's biggest rivals for years, as you have said. Surely, who could have better motives to spy on you than the Trade Federation?" Klamin asked.

"I do not know, but what I do know is that there are conclusive reports from security personnel that this spy or terrorist network is composed of bad Jedi."

Adriaan tensed. "Excuse me?"

"Sith cultists, I conjecture, is the explicit moniker," Andora asserted.

"Sith cultists!" several Apprentices exclaimed.

"GOODS!" Aedan and his Wicked Club shouted at the same time.

Kan looked at Klamin and saw his fear mirrored in the Shi'Odo's face.

_Haak and Ra'hal were sith cultists, and they are still alive…_

"Sith cultists? Let's not jump to conclusions. May I see this 'conclusive' report you are referring to?" Adriaan's face was white as a sheet, but her voice was nonchalant. Disbelieving.

Senator Danu silently turned on his datascreen and clicked on a file, angling the screen so that the Jedi and the clones could get a full view.

The report was filed by a member of KDY security ––– guards that were known for their vigilance and their loyalty to Kuat. The report itself Kan found hard to follow, but there was a holo attached to it that the Senator clicked on when Adriaan had finished reading the file. It was a holovid taken from a security camera stationed outside the KDY meeting room. In it, an average-looking male human was seen walking towards the entrance, where several guards were standing. The human was dressed in plain, anonymous, light-colored coveralls with brown boots to match.

"Man, that guy has zero taste in clothes," Darc muttered.

"Yeah," Andre ––– one of Aedan's friends ––– giggled. "I bet he has no GOOD girlfriends…"

Kay stamped on Darc's and Andre's feet to keep them quiet.

"Ow!" Andre shrieked, defeating Kay's intention of silencing him.

"Shut up!" Adriaan snapped as the Kuati sentinels straightened at the man's approach.

"Halt!" the KDY guard said, barring the way. The young man stopped. "No citizens beyond this point, sir."

The human smiled pleasantly and spoke in a low voice. It sounded like, "I can go through."

"You can't go past this point," the guard repeated.

The man continued to smile pleasantly, repeating a little louder. "I can go through." This time, there was a slight motion of his fingers across the guard's face. Kan felt a ripple of fear run through his Master, sensing her distress through the Force as clearly as if she had just spoken her misgivings aloud.

_Only Jedi do that._

The guard seemed to be agitated about something as well. The man, still smiling, pressed forward, but the guard still resolutely barred the way. "No," he said, but his voice sounded shaky.

The man's amiable grin dropped a few centimeters, and his brow furrowed the tiniest bit. He lifted his hand and waved it in the guard's face. "I can go through."

Kan looked over at his Master. The blood had drained from her face. She definitely felt it now, the undercurrent of the dark side that could be sensed even through a holo-projection…

_That man is Force-sensitive._

"You can go through," the guard said.

The man's smile returned, and he stepped briskly toward the door. However, the other guards had taken notice, and were not going to let a civilian pass.

"Look, bud, if you don't want to cause any trouble, than you should leave this area now," one of the guards said.

"I work here. Let me in," the young man said.

"If you work here, you must be new, 'cause I've never seen you before. Besides, where's your I.D.?"

"I left it inside by accident. Please, just let me go in."

Pause. "I'm afraid we can't do that, sir."

The man wasn't smiling now. His face had become as hard as duracrete as he hissed, "If I were you, I'd let me in."

This time, the sentinels laughed. "Oh, sure, it's a good thing we're not you, then," they said.

The young human stood silently, staring the sentries down as they continued to laugh uproariously. Kan looked at Senator Danu, wondering if he had clicked on the wrong file. Except for the little hand motion, the young man hadn't shown any signs of being Force-sensitive, and he definitely didn't seem to be any threat to the guards. But Giddean's eyes were glued to the screen, his face grim.

The laughter came to an abrupt halt, bringing Kan's attention back to the screen. All four security officers were still there, and still alive. Nothing had happened. Nothing was wrong. But laughter died down gradually; it didn't come to a sudden stop unless something was wrong. But what was wrong?

The young man was motionless, staring steadily at the guards. Kan felt a sense of foreboding wash over him. That man was just standing there, but he was doing _something._

A Kuati twitched, his hands rising to his throat. He coughed a little. Kan dismissed the motion, thinking the man just had to clear his throat, but when his companions started to do the same thing, Kan began to feel alarmed.

The four of them were gasping now, writhing where they stood. They were acting like fish that had just been taken out of water. They began to frantically try to unbutton the collars on their tunics, but that seemed to worsen matters. The cold realization of what was happening washed over Kan as the squirming guards fell simultaneously to the ground, clawing desperately for air. Nothing was touching them, nothing at all was happening, but they were suffocating to death.

"Ug-lu-huh-ug-uh…" The sound of four men choking to death was probably about the worst sound he had ever heard. But even more vile was the young Force-sensitive, the hateful way he just stood still, watching, waiting, slowly killing them. As the men gasped in agony, he smiled ––– a horrible, clean smirk, which showed all his perfect white teeth ––– and stepped toward the door…

"Ug-huh-lug-uh…"

"Fierfek," Kan choked. "Turn it off."

Senator Danu made a move to switch off the screen, but Adriaan stood suddenly, holding up a hand to stop him. "Play it again," she said, her voice even. A look of protest flashed briefly across Giddean's face, but it was gone in the next moment. He inclined his head respectfully and pressed the replay button.

It was even worse, watching it the second time. The Padawans all began to squirm in their seats, and many faces looked queasy as the young man approached the door for the second time, went through the motions of mind-tricking the first guard, and then was accosted again by the other three. The conversation was repeated, the guards started to snicker…Kan felt a lump forming in his stomach and turned his face away from the screen as the sound of choking replaced the laughter.

"Turn the volume up," Adriaan said mercilessly.

_Sithspit, how can she just sit there and say, 'turn up the volume' as if this were just some new popular holovid? That man is _torturing _those guards to death._

Kan felt an overwhelming desire to turn his ears inside out and run out of the room, but some inner strength of will kept him rooted to the spot, his ears cringing as they absorbed what his eyes did not: the horrible, gurgling sound of men in their last agonizing moments of life.

Then the noise stopped, and his eyes automatically snapped open as his head whipped toward the screen. The four guards were lying on the ground, very still; the Force-sensitive looked around quickly, then stepped over the dead bodies and walked off the screen as he went through the door. The hologram faded abruptly as the transmission ended.

Kan tensed and glanced over at his Master, dreading the repetition of the horrible request to replay the holo. But Adriaan was standing very still, her eyes staring at the blank screen, as if there were some invisible code masked in its utter emptiness.

"I hope you now see why I assumed it was sith cultists," Danu said soberly, clearing his throat. "As you well know, the only people in the galaxy that can…choke beings without touching them, are Jedi. Of course, I also realize that no self-respecting Jedi would kill men in such a way, so my only other conclusion was that this man was a bad Jedi ––– a sith cultist, according to your Apprentice."

Adriaan was still staring at the screen, as if she were reading something on it. "This holo was taken prior to the discovery that the schematics for KDY's latest project was missing," Danu continued. "I think it highly probable that the man stole the schematics after he made it past security. His motives for stealing the blueprints are unknown unless, of course, he is working for one of our rival companies." He paused, confused at the Jedi's odd lapse into silence. "Well, Master Jedi, what is your opinion on the matter? Do you think that this man is a sith cultist? Or is there another explanation for this incident? Perhaps through the release of suffocating gases…"

General ell Talaan started as her eyes came back into focus. "Sorry, Senator. No, that was definitely a…a Force-sensitive. What were the schematics he stole?"

Giddean frowned. "I myself am not sure; Onara told me that data was classified. Besides, do you really think that information is relevant?"

"Of course," Adriaan said. "It could be a clue to the man's motives. But never mind, my boys can obtain that data easily. Okay, next question. What makes you think that he isn't the only cultist here?"

"There have been recordings of several other incidents like this, which I have listed here," Giddean said, accessing another file and sending it into the air. "Six months ago, there was a report of a slight malfunction in a Jedi starfighter prototype. We got the tech crew in and corrected the mistake, but the test flight ended up being a failure ––– the ship blew up upon reentry into the upper atmosphere. This sort of incident has repeated itself over the past several months. Just this week, an assault cruiser failed to launch due to an engine blowout. These kind of malfunctions, of course, have happened before, but never in such quantity. We think it is due to sabotage, but security so far has been unable to locate the saboteur."

"Okay, so you've been having vehicles sabotaged over the past several months. Force-sensitives aren't the only people capable of this," Kay pointed out. "It sounds to me that this is more of an inside job than foreign infiltration."

"True, but how many people own lightsabers?"

"Lightsabers?"

"There is evidence that damage done to the hulls and inter workings of some of our ships were due to lightsaber cuts. I myself have never seen a lightsaber incision before, but I have to agree that the markings left on the ships are quite unusual."

The Jedi looked at each other. "I'm afraid that in order to confirm that a lightsaber did the damage, I or my Padawans would have to inspect the crippled vehicles ourselves," Adriaan said.

"You will have to arrange that with the principal director of KDY."

Adriaan nodded. "Okay. Anything else on the report?"

"Theft, assault, kidnapping, vandalism, the usual. Of course, those crimes could or could not be directly connected to the KDY incidents."

"True. So the only evidence you have of a terrorist organization operating here is this one security holo, the missing schematics for…whatever it is, and the sabotage in the shipyards?"

"That is correct."

"Well, that's not much to go on, but I think it'll be enough to make a good start," Adriaan said, standing. "Besides, I don't think you should keep that privacy device on much longer; we don't want anyone to suspect that we're here for any ulterior motives."

"Quite right." Senator Danu stood too, and extended his hand toward Adriaan. The Jedi grasped the man's hand firmly and shook it.

"Now, I'm not sure there will be any good reason for the Goba Shag ambassador to contact you again, so if there is anything else you didn't cover in this briefing, you have to tell me now. We can't risk comlink communication. Comm signals can be traced," Adriaan said.

"I believe that is all, General. Here is a copy of the report. Does Onara know that you are here?"

"No, Senator. As I said, Onara is…busy this time of year," Adriaan said, she and the clones grinning suddenly at some inside joke.

Danu smiled back, though only briefly. Kan began to feel a little annoyed; he wanted to know what was so funny about what his Master had just said. "Indeed. Well, I shall see about arranging a meeting with her for you tomorrow morning." Giddean pressed the button on his desk that turned off the security device. "Now, Neela, I believe that your taxi cab has arrived. My guard will escort you out. Once again, welcome to the city of Kuat. I hope you enjoy your stay."

Adriaan and the ELF Commandos grinned again, leaving Kan with a cold feeling in his gut. He recognized his Master's smile; it was one she usually wore just before she was about to do something insane.

"Don't worry, we will," Adriaan said with a laugh.


	4. Chapter 3: Fraternizing with Terrorists

**_Su'cuy! _Hope you are all enjoying _Invader! _Since today is my birthday, I'm posting two chapters instead of one. Please enjoy, and I look forward to some more reviews!**

**Disclaimer: _Star Wars _is not mine, nor was the Mandalorian language and culture created by me. However, all original characters, planets, and creatures are of my own creation. **

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Chapter 3

_"Threats come in all guises. Not all soldiers are young males, and not all soldiers wear uniforms." – _RC-1136 Darman of Omega Squad.

✶ Kuat City, 1400 - 404 days ABG ✶

It took them a good portion of the day to get settled down in the hotel room. Since they had amassed more credits than they really needed, they were able to stay in a relatively decent hotel called the _Kuat City Hotel, _a name as creative and eye-catching as the proprietor of the establishment ––– a sullen, slowwitted, middle-aged Kuati man who spent most of his time sitting in his chair and staring vacantly at a blank wall. Adriaan had had to ask him five times for the room key before he finally realized she was talking to him.

"_Prondo, poltro ma'umo! Prondo, merdes, nu!" _Adriaan shouted in the man's ear, startling him from his daydreaming.

"_Eh? Che'cos i tesiterade?" _He asked.

"_Parla Basico?"_

_ "Ne, ne parla Basico. Me parla Kuati, mulpa."_

_ "Ah, vora un camre, perfav."_

The hotel manager scratched his head stupidly. "_N'capi. Repetite lentim perfav?"_

"_Vora un camre, perfav._"

The man still didn't understand. "_N'capi. Mulpa."_

Adriaan let out an exasperated breath and repeated the phrase, using wide, sweeping hand motions to make her point. "_Voh-RAH. OON. CAHM-ray. Per-FAV-ay."_

"_Ah! Chi! Un credito e in ante?" _

Adriaan sighed with relief, glad that it had finally penetrated the man's thick skull. "_Chi. Perfav familia hotel suite danta. Che'co i credito bimi?"_

"_Ah, chi, familia hotel suite. Che'co i senticento ventue per noxitu."_

Seven hundred and twenty-two credits per night? Well, it could be worse. Adriaan handed over the credit chips and the group was shown to their room by a surly, scruffy-looking, adolescent porter.

The rooms were decent, even if the customer service was sloppy and the proprietor was a brain-dead moron who not only couldn't speak a word of Basic, he could barely grasp his own native tongue as well. Good thing General ell Talaan was a polyglot, speaking fluently in about a dozen different languages from all over the galaxy, including Huttese, Kuati, Zylxxian, Shrii-wook, Binary, Bocce, and of course, Mando'a.

Ah, Mando'a. Few non-natives of Mandalore were fluent in that tongue, but luckily, Adriaan was one of the few. Wolf and his brothers had been taught Mandalorian war chants by Jango Fett during their time spent in the training facilities on Kamino, but that was as far as their knowledge of Mando'a went, until Adriaan had taken it upon herself to give them further instruction in the language.

In a way, the ELF Commandos were her non-Force-sensitive Jedi Apprentices. For over a year now she had been their teacher, training them in various Jedi combat techniques, martial arts, several different languages, and most importantly, explaining to them things about the universe they did not yet understand, because until a year ago they had literally been living in a habitat isolated from the rest of the galaxy.

Another bonus the ELFs had acquired from training with a Jedi was their resistance to Jedi mind-tricks. All clones were extremely intelligent, but unfortunately they were easily susceptible to mind-tricks, making it easy for bad Force-sensitives ––– such as Count Dooku and his protege, Asajj Ventress ––– to force clones to spill Intel they wouldn't have revealed under interrogation. Not so for the ELF Commandos. That was probably why they ended up in front line campaigns so often; it didn't matter if they got captured, because there was absolutely nothing that could make them reveal Republic secrets to the enemy. Adriaan had taught them to keep their minds under lock and key.

"WICKED!" the Wicked Club screamed, plunging headlong into the first bed that they saw. Throwing cushions at each other, the crazy youths stood up and began to jump on the mattress.

"Marshmallows!" Jahn Pal, one of the Wicked Club's "geniuses" cried, taking a big mouthful out of the pillow he clutched in his fist.

"Silly Jahn Pal, those aren't marshmallows," Sai'wer, the other "genius" said. "Those are quite clearly weapons of mass destruction." Saying this, he whacked his cushion on top of Nic to make his point. Poor Nic, who was about half Sai'wer's size, was pancaked by the powerful blow.

"Jerk!" Nic spluttered through a mouthful of fluff, giggling despite his pain as the feathers tickled his face.

"WICKED!" Andre shrieked, activating his lightsaber and slicing up the cushions as they were thrown in rapid succession by Heatrian and Aedan.

"UNWICKED! The WICKED is impervious to our ammunition!" Aedan cried in mock dismay as the pillows seemed to have little effect on Andre.

"It's time to WICKEDLY amp it up a bit," Heatrian answered, grasping a pillow in his fist. The cushion suddenly burst into flame, and the fire-being threw the flaming projectile toward a terrified Andre.

"What the GOOD! What are you trying to do, kill me?" Andre shrieked, thumbing off his lightsaber and taking cover behind the bed along with Jahn Pal, Nic, and Sai'wer. "GOOD old Adriaan! Make that insane Pyronite stop!"

Adriaan, who had been focused on the report copied onto her datapad, whirled as she smelled the nauseating odor of burned feathers, and stared in shock as she took in the sight of four of her Apprentices being bombarded by a hailstorm of blazing pillows. "What the…" Adriaan, to her credit, bit down the profanity that rose to her lips, diverting her energy instead to putting an end to the battle before the hotel was set aflame. "Heatrian, you idiot, stop it before you burn the whole place down!"

The Pyronite, though a scoundrel, knew when to call it quits. He stopped immediately, sheepishly quenching the fire he had set to the cushions clenched in each of his hands.

"Sorry, Adriaan," he said apologetically.

"Are you seriously trying to compromise our objective? Do you want to be responsible for about a quintillion people who are going to get killed if this mission isn't a success?" Adriaan wasn't yelling; her voice was ice-cold when she got angry. And she was definitely provoked now. "Seriously, what were you idiots thinking?"

"Toasting marshmallows," Jahn Pal mumbled, burying his head in a scorched pillow. Andre and Nic were both peeking over the bed and trying hard to look enraged, but they looked more inclined to laugh. Well, Wolf had to admit that the situation looked pretty funny. Adriaan was standing with her hands on her hips, surrounded by what looked to be the remains of a war zone. Charred bits of feathers, burning sheets, black smoke-stains on the wall, ash covering the faces of the Wicked Club…Wolf coughed to hide the unexpected urge to laugh.

Adriaan whirled instantly at the sound. "Something funny, Wolf?" she demanded sternly.

"Uh, no, ma'am," Wolf said hastily. "I just had to cough."

Adriaan's frown was suddenly replaced by a grin. "And these boys just had to release all that energy they've had to keep cooped up for two days during the hyperspace flight, right?"

"Yes, ma'am." Wolf knew that Adriaan knew the true reason why he had coughed. She knew him so well. Sometimes, it seemed that she considered him to be more her friend than her pupil.

_But that's just my imagination. She doesn't see me as anything but one of her own Padawans. Just another kid she has to train. _

"By the way, Aedan, I didn't know you were illiterate," Adriaan continued, turning back to her delinquent Apprentices.

Aedan started, his eyes narrowing. "Hey, who the GOOD told you that?!" he demanded. He turned to his comrades. "Andre! It must've been you! You told that GOOD my GOOD old secret! How…how dare you!"

"No, WICKED King, I didn't –––" Andre's retort was cut off as Aedan pounced on top of him.

"I'm going to WICKEDLY kill you!" Aedan screamed, pummeling Andre with his fists.

"I didn't GOODLY tell! I WICKEDLY swear!" Andre shrieked.

"Yeah, but on what can you WICKEDLY swear on? Your brain? Oh, right, you don't GOODLY have one!" Aedan said evenly, pressing Andre's face into the floor.

"Aedan! That's enough!" Adriaan yelled, hauling the bully to his feet. "Andre didn't tell! I was just being sarcastic because there was a sign on the door that you apparently didn't pay any attention to." She held up the door sign in front of the boy's face. "See? No jumping on beds, no smoking, no fires…"

"Oops. Sorry, WICKED Andre," Aedan said. Andre simply glared and punched him in the face.

"I didn't even know you were GOODLY illiterate," Andre hissed through clenched teeth. "Next time, WICKEDLY ask before you go around accusing WICKEDS of being GOOD tattletales."

"Yes, well, I guess I WICKEDLY deserved that punch," Aedan said, rubbing his face where Andre had hit him.

"Okay, so that's settled. Now, you boys can clean up this mess while the rest of us finish unpacking and analyzing these reports," Adriaan said, turning back to business.

"Aw, do we _have _to?" Marya griped.

Adriaan paused, considering. "Well, on second thought, Marya, you can go start on the sixty repetitions of the Koré form."

When the Zabrak responded with a Bocce profanity, Adriaan raised an eyebrow. "Are you _sure_ you want to do it one hundred times instead of sixty?"

Marya gave up and stormed off into the next room to carry out her punishment.

"All right, anyone else want to join her?" Adriaan looked around, feigning surprise when no one else volunteered to go. "Really? Okay then, let's get back to work."

Wolf had a lot to unload ––– he had brought every available piece of kit with him, from Geonosian force-pikes to Merr-Sonn PLXs ––– but he had packed and unpacked a lot of equipment many times before, so he got it all done in no time. Then, with some distaste, he turned to the task Adriaan had assigned him to; reading Kuat police reports in an attempt to find a pattern in the terrorist attacks.

"Mm." Ember ––– who had been promoted to the rank of Commander since their mission to Umbria ––– commented.

"What?" Adriaan asked, her eyes glued to her own datapad.

"Well, I found something about these attacks. Not all the sabotaged vehicles were military transports."

"See, Master? There's our evidence," Kan said triumphantly. "This is not a Separatist organization responsible for this; the saboteurs are probably just a gang of highschool dropouts, or a jealous rival corporation. This is a job fit for the Kuati police, not the Galactic Military."

"Incorrect," Adriaan said. "The only reason they aren't targeting specific craft is because they _want _you to think they are just juvenile delinquents or predatory companies. They don't want us to figure out who they're after, they want to remain as anonymous as possible. I've worked in covert ops before, so I know how these people operate."

"You know, sometimes I can't wait for the day that I'm made a Jedi Knight so that _I _can be the one to say, 'No, Padawan, you are incorrect, as usual.'" Kan said grumpily.

"Good to know you have a goal in life."

"Oh, sith take it all!" Cor said impatiently, throwing his datapad on the floor. "Let's save this for later and get something to eat. I swear I'm going to die if I don't get food in the next ten minutes."

"No, you know the rules. Mission comes first," Ember said, scrolling through the reports.

"Not if I die first," Cor grumbled, flopping on top of several Wicked Club members who were sprawled on the bed.

"Ow! GOOD!" Aedan yelled, struggling out from underneath the clone and tumbling to the floor. He got up to his feet, suddenly smiling as his eyes lit on the door. "Hey, they have an indoor pool here!" he said, pointing to the sign on the entryway.

"Fascinating," Kay said, barely glancing up from her datapad. "Where did you procure that piece of Intel?"

"The WICKED old sign on the door, duh! Can't you read?" Aedan demanded.

"What's this? I thought you were illiterate," Adriaan remarked sarcastically.

"I am?! Who GOODLY told you that?" Aedan screamed. "Andre! Was it you?! It must have been you! How dare you, you GOOD!"

Andre cringed as his Wicked King stepped forward to give him another unmerited beating.

"Aedan, we've already been through that already," Adriaan said wearily. "If you've finished cleaning up the pillow mess, you need to get your butt over here and help us analyze these files."

"Um, Adriaan, not to complain or anything, but my muscles are sort of sore from that last training exercise you gave us," Klamin hinted.

"Then go into the other room with Marya and do some Koré. That'll get the kinks out of you," Adriaan snapped.

"Aw, Adriaan…"

"Uh, ma'am, a brief dip in the pool might be a good idea," Cor said. "It'll relax us, freshen our minds. We'll come back to these datapads with our brains recharged to maximum thinking capacity."

"I thought you were starving to death," Adriaan remarked acerbically. "Do you want to take one more swim l before you die?"

"Actually, yes ma'am, I do," Cor said quietly.

Adriaan's shoulders slumped. She knew that Cor was being completely serious, of course. She knew that because of their job, one tiny mistake could be fatal for them. They could perish any day, at any given moment. And even if they did survive the war, they wouldn't get the privilege of a long, peaceful, prosperous life. They would die before a normal human lived half his life.

"You don't have swimsuits," she said, but it was a weak protest.

"I thought you might say that," Darc said suddenly. "That's why I took the liberty of buying some."

"What?" Adriaan turned to stare incredulously at the ex-Padawan. "Why, you had this planned all along, didn't you? You _planned _to take some time off this mission to go for a swim, didn't you?"

Darc gazed steadily at her; surprisingly, it was her own Apprentices that hung their heads in shame. Adriaan gaped at them in amazement. "Are you seriously saying that you…you _schemed _with this moron? Even you, Kay Lee, you who hates Darc so much?"

"Well, Adriaan, covert ops isn't exactly a 'go go go!' type of mission; it's more like a 'stand by' sort of thing, you know? I thought it might be a good idea for us to have something to do during the 'standby' parts…just so we wouldn't be bored, you see."

"I told you she wouldn't go for it," Kan told Darc.

"Who said anything about that?" Adriaan answered. She leaned back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest. "It's routine for soldiers to keep themselves fit in the spare hours during missions. Just as long as you promise to…"

"Oh yeah, don't worry, we've got it all covered," Darc said, jumping to his feet. "No horseplay down there; just a whole ton of laps. We'll start out with fifty lengths of breaststroke, then get right into our workout with two hundred consecutive laps of freestyle…"

"Don't do that, you idiot; you're better off out of shape than too physically exhausted to do anything. You guys are no good to me dead."

"It's so encouraging to know we're valued."

"But don't take that as an incentive to bask out in the beach chairs and flirt with the babes, all right?"

"Flirt? Why, Ree, how could you suspect that of me?" Darc asked with feigned indignation.

"Suspect? Darc, I haven't lived underneath a rock all my life. You are most definitely a flirt. You always have been, even when you were a Padawan. Why, remember that one time you said…"

"Ah, I think that is enough said," Darc said hastily, his face reddening with embarrassment. "So, can we go?"

"Of course."

The Padawans, Darc, and the ELFs all cheered.

"Finally! I've been craving the swimming pool for _hours," _Kay said, pulling out a fuchsia swimsuit from her bag.

"At last, I can stop sweating like a Gamorrean and do something fun for once," Marya muttered, glad to be rid of the Koré form for the time being.

The girls left the room to get changed, while Darc handed out swimtrunks to the boys.

"I guess I should leave the room until you are decently dressed again," Adriaan said, standing and averting her face when she saw Darc peel off his shirt. "Ugh, Darc, you have about as much flesh as a full-sized Hutt."

"Aw, Adriaan, you needn't feel sad. I got you a swimsuit, too," Darc said, holding up a bright red garment.

Adriaan snorted. "Oh, hoh, very funny, Darc."

"What?" Darc asked with a puzzled frown. "Come on, I had Kay pick it out for you, so it's not against Jedi standards or anything."

"I appreciate that you went through all that trouble, Darc, but you have to realize that this work here has to be done by _someone, _and since I don't want to go swimming, it makes sense that that someone would be me."

"I do not aspire to go saturate myself in insalubrious fluid either, Master," Andora said, coming back into the room, pinching her swimsuit between her thumb and forefinger as if it were some sort of filthy rag.

"Oh, yes you do. Like Cor said, it'll help you relax, clear your mind, so that you can come here all fresh and pumped up for tons of boring reading."

"But you are not coming, Master."

Adriaan slapped a hand to her forehead. "Since when have you become so argumentative, Andora?"

"I ask for pardon, Master, but I am unable to refrain from disclosing the observation that your motives for tarrying are quite –––"

"Get out!" Adriaan roared, sending her Padawan scurrying back into the girls' room.

Darc looked genuinely disappointed. "Please, Ree, can you just drop the work for a little bit? We can always come back to it later."

"You would have me risk lives for the sake of frivolous entertainment?" Adriaan demanded.

"Well, no, Adriaan, but I hardly think that going for a brief swim would endanger –––"

"Why are you always demanding explanations from me? I do not have to answer to _you_. I am the General and Master here, last time I checked. Just get dressed and leave me alone."

"But Adriaan, I can't get dressed if you're still in here…"

Adriaan glared and stomped off into the other room.

"Man, she's a moody chick," Darc snickered. "Ah, if only she knew how much I enjoyed torturing her."

"You'd better respect her, sir," Wolf warned. "She's your CO. If you aren't more respectful to her, sir, then I'm going to have to…"

"Soldier!" Ember barked.

Wolf broke off and straightened at attention. "Sorry, sir."

"You are forgiven," Darc said with a righteous air, pulling on his swim trunks.

"I wasn't talking to _you…_sir," Wolf said, but Darc didn't hear him; he was busy shouting into the girls' room.

"Hey, girls, hurry up! We don't have all day!" he yelled.

Wolf shook his head, throwing his own waterproof garment on top of the bed. He decided that he didn't really want to go down to the pool; it was no doubt crowded with people, people that would most likely stare at him and his brothers. Stare at them because they looked like a set of duodecaplets, and men who had obviously grown up with intensive training and a high-protein diet. Wolf, stripped to the waist, glanced at himself in the mirror. All solid muscle; not a single ounce of fat on him. Yes, even without the armor he looked like a soldier, totally fit and in the prime of his career.

_It all goes to show that it takes more than the armor to make a soldier, _Wolf thought.

"Look, Wolf, I know Darc can be a pest, but you need to throttle off the testosterone a bit. The General can take care of him without your help," Ember said, appearing from behind.

"I know," Wolf said, suddenly terribly conscious of his new overwhelming desire to protect her. He hadn't told anyone, but ever since Umbria he had come to the startling yet euphoric revelation that he loved his Jedi General, and had loved her for quite some time, except he hadn't realized it until what happened on Umbria…

The ELF Commandos used to number twenty, but ever since Umbria, their numbers had been drastically reduced to thirteen ––– twelve now, since Rez was away on Coruscant. They were all careful not to show it, but the clones were still trying to cope with the loss of so many comrades. Wolf supposed that the recent deaths of seven brothers was part of the reason he had become so protective of his friends who still lived, especially Adriaan. He was afraid to lose them, too.

"Son, better get dressed, or Darc will have a fit." Ember gave Wolf a rough tap on the back to get him moving.

"It's all right, sir; I'm not in the mood for a swim right now. I think I should just stay here and help the General with the reports. It's a lot quicker analyzing datapads with more than one pair of eyes."

"She didn't ask for anyone's help; I don't think she'll want you to stay up here," Ember said, his expression darkening. Wolf knew that the true reason Ember was objecting to him staying upstairs was because he didn't like Wolf having tête-à-têtes with Adriaan. He was afraid that Wolf might become too attached to her, for romantic relationships of any kind were unacceptable for both clones and Jedi. Wolf didn't like to worry Ember, but he really needed to talk to Adriaan. Ever since she had comforted him in the barracks on the Republic ship that had shipped them off Umbria, Wolf had avoided talking to her for the most part, for he didn't want Ember to suspect that his conversation with the Jedi General had deepened his relationship with her. Adriaan really hadn't spoken much to him, either, but perhaps that was because she truly understood. She could sometimes be blatantly thoughtless about other people's emotions, but there were times when her Jedi powers helped her be more sensitive and delicate about a person's feelings. Either that, or Ember must have said something to her. And if that were the case, Ember already knew ––– or at least suspected ––– Wolf had a crush on their Jedi General.

But enough of that. Wolf figured he had done enough avoiding for now. Ember really didn't expect him to never speak to Adriaan again, did he?

"Trust me, Commander. Have I ever let you down?" Wolf murmured.

Ember's face softened slightly. "Of course not. But promise me something, will you? Don't create tension within the squad by taking your relationship with the Jedi any farther. It's not fair to anyone, especially for you two. She's a Jedi, and you know her Council doesn't allow members of their Order to form attachments with anyone. She would lose her rank as a General, and she would lose her career as a Jedi as well if they ever…"

"I think you just don't like her. You don't want her to be part of the squad, never mind that she's taken it upon herself to train us," Wolf said fiercely.

Ember let out a breath of exasperation. "Wolf, you know that's not what I meant. All I'm saying is that the Jedi Order has already expressed their concern that she's too attached to us already. We can't get her into any more trouble, otherwise she'll get busted down to the AgriCorps to grow plants for the rest of her life. And I can hardly imagine her being a farmer. No; I like General ell Talaan a lot, and appreciate the fact that she cares very much for us. If she wants to be part of the squad, I'm totally for it, but only as long as she maintains her current relationship with us. She's our big sister, and she should be treated as such. A romantic relationship between you two would only create barriers within the team. Not purposefully, of course, but it would happen, and then she would cease to function as our commanding officer. Leaders are supposed to unite their men into a fighting unit, not break them apart. Do you understand, Wolf? Do you understand why she has to remain our big sister?"

Wolf felt a lump rise to his throat. He understood, all right, but it didn't make him feel any better. He realized that Adriaan best fit the role of a big sister ––– she was too young to be their mother, and bound by a vow to never be anyone's lover ––– but it didn't stop him from wishing. Hoping that somehow things would work out.

Oh, well. Being a soldier was all about doing things for other people, regardless of your feelings or your life. This hadn't been the first time Wolf had been called to do a duty he absolutely abhorred. But he would do it; he would do his best to keep Adriaan as their big sister, for Ember's sake. For the squad's sake. It was the least he could do for men that had stuck through hell with him.

Wolf smiled reassuringly at his Commander. "Yes, sir. She's our big sister. Now, do you have any objection to a little brother helping his sibling do some boring analyst work?"

Ember, of course, had no objection. He trusted Wolf to watch his back in the heat of a battle; there was no reason to doubt him now. Patting Wolf on the back, he joined the others ––– now clad in all different colors of swimsuits ––– as they followed Darc out the door.

"We'll be back in a few hours!" Darc called to Adriaan. "If you get all the work done before then, we'd still really like it if you came down!"

"Sure, whatever; I'll think about it," Adriaan replied, her eyes poring over the contents of a datapad. Wolf, picking up a stack of files off the table beside her, stared at the Jedi with a mixture of awe and amusement. Adriaan was reading boring datafiles with the focus of a teenage girl who was right in the middle of the latest saccharine, schmaltzy romance novel. She hardly seemed to care that everyone else had abandoned her to go have a few hours of fun at the pool. She probably didn't even know that he had stayed behind to help her.

Wolf glanced down at the list of codes on the datapad. _Maybe I should have gone downstairs, after all, _he reflected.

They had spent about half an hour in motionless silence when Adriaan suddenly slapped her datapad on the table, startling Wolf out of his reverie. "We're not going to get anywhere with these loads of junk," she said, gesturing at the reports she had gotten from GAR intelligence and the files from Senator Danu. "Intel usually proves to be inaccurate."

"Well, there was a Mandalorian warrior on Kamino who once said, 'Three things you should never trust, son: weather reports, the canteen menu, and Intel.'"

"He's right. But he forgot to add another thing to the list. Sith." She shuddered. "I swear, I almost threw up when I played that holoclip a second time."

"Oh." She certainly hadn't looked sick when she had watched it. She had almost appeared bored.

"Yeah, well, I'm glad I found the guts to watch it a second time. I picked up a lot that I wouldn't have been able to notice in the first viewing."

"What did you pick up, ma'am?"

Adriaan suddenly seemed to notice that Wolf hadn't left with the rest. Her eyes narrowed. "Shouldn't you be frolicking with the other army deserters in the downstairs pool right now?"

"I didn't feel up to it. Darc can, well, you know…"

"…Get on your nerves? Well, I can't blame you for that."

"So, ma'am, can you tell me what you found?"

"Two things. One, when the man started choking the guards, he whispered something. It was very faint, but I could hear it. He said, '_Zhol kash dinora, Haak'ari._'" She paused, swallowing. "He spoke in the ancient tongue of the sith ––– a language only known to a few. And one of those few, I'm sorry to say, is me. 'It is done, Lord Haak.'"

_Haak. _Wolf gulped. "And Haak was that guy who…"

Her eyes were staring at her boots. "Yes. The one who attacked me on Umbria. The one who disappeared into thin air, as if he were little more than a wraith. But he was not a wraith…I felt him. He's here, on Kuat."

"Do you think he is in charge of the cultist organization?"

"The second thing I saw confirmed all doubt that Haak is responsible for the operations here. I observed that when the man lifted his right hand to mind-trick the guard, there was a dark crisscrossing of lines marking the flesh of his palm. The black marks outlined the creases in his palm, and then ran down his arm in a curving pattern…" Adriaan lifted her right hand to draw a spiraling pattern in the air. "You've seen that sort of tattoo before, haven't you?" she asked, holding her right arm still so that the stark contrast of black lines against white skin stood out clearly.

Wolf nodded. "You mean it's the same design that's tattooed on your own arm?"

"Correct."

Wolf paused, a bit uncomfortably. "You never told us how you got that tattoo."

"That's because it isn't a good story to tell before bedtime. Wolf, I've told you all about that mission I went on back when I was a Padawan…the one when I and Darc Chun-be were captured by pirates and sold into slavery? The time when I was almost bought as some sort of gladiator for General Grievous? Well, the pirates…were actually a cult of sith worshippers. And you may not know this yet about sith cultists ––– but you soon will, believe me, because the terrorist organization here is definitely a cult ––– but certain sects have a tattooing ritual, in which beings who wish to become part of the cult are marked with a sith tattoo to signify their bondage to the dark side.

She paused. "Now, don't get me wrong, I had no wish to join the ranks of the pirate sith. One doesn't have to give full consent of the will to become a sith initiate, apparently. Darc, my friend Ra'hal, and I were forced to bear the mark of the sith. It was one of the most frightening, painful, and humiliating ordeals we ever went through."

"But Darc doesn't have that tattoo anymore."

Adriaan smiled wryly. "Yes, but that is because I cut off his tattooed arm by accident when my Master made me switch my style of combat to double tonfa sabers. It took Darc a while to get used to his prosthetic arm, but he seems to be coping with the lost limb quite well now."

"So, do you think that the sith cultists who enslaved you a few years ago are the same organization operating on Kuat now?"

"Fairly certain; only the Disciples of Ragnos wear tattoos of that design."

"That's the name of the cult? Disciples of Ragnos?"

She nodded. "They are a sect of Force-sensitives who idolize a sith Lord called Marka Ragnos, who died some five thousand years ago. I'm told he was the greatest sith of his time, which was shortly before the Great Hyperspace War. However bad he was, it's hard to believe he was any worse than his followers. They're predators, hiding out in all corners of the galaxy, waiting for Force-sensitives ––– especially young, impressionable ones ––– to fall into their grasp. They employ some kind of long-term or permanent mind-trick to wipe the memories of the people they kidnap, so the brainwashed Force-sensitives will be easily seduced to the dark side. They're little better than slaves, carrying out the will of an ancient sorcerer long dead. The only way to stop them is to kill them."

She tossed the rest of the files onto the floor. "So, basically, that's quite a bit of Intel we've procured. We already know what sort of people we're dealing with; the only thing we need to do now is find a way to stop them. The next step is to set up a meeting with Onara Kuat, and see if we can get access to the shipyards so we can inspect the damaged ships and the vulnerability of the facility and such. That'll probably take place some time tomorrow."

She threw herself on the bed and rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling. "Now, I suppose I should take the opportunity to get some sleep…but I don't really feel like it. Do you, Wolf?"

"No, ma'am."

She picked up the swimsuit Darc had left lying on the bed and studied it critically. "Well, I suppose we could go downstairs and go swimming with the others. Kay Lee definitely chose this swimsuit; it's something I would wear. I suppose it would have been a bikini if Darc had picked it out." She swung her legs over the bed and raised herself to a sitting position. "Besides, it'd be a shame to waste the money they spent on it. Want to come down with me, _Wolf'ika_?"

_Wolf'ika. _Little Wolf. It was supposed to be a sign of affection, but it made Wolf wonder; did she really think of him as a little boy?

She looked so winsome, sitting there on the bed, swinging her legs and looking at him with her large blue eyes. Wolf suddenly felt the urge to shout it out then, declare his love for her now, even though Ember had said not to, because it wouldn't be fair…

Wolf paused to consider. Ember was completely right, of course; it wouldn't be fair to anyone if he and Adriaan became lovers. He would become a wedge between Adriaan and her Apprentices, and she would stand between him and his brothers. They would let their concern for each other get in the way of their respective duties. They were soldiers; their priority was the mission. Love would only distract them, and in a way, separate them from the squad. Couples naturally desired to have time alone together, and privacy was impossible in a tight-knit group such as this one.

So Wolf bit the impulse down, for his squad's and his General's sake. "Sure, _ori'vod__,_" he said.

Adriaan paused, staring at Wolf with a mixture of amazement and…yes, happiness. Briefly, he wondered what her reaction would have been if he had said, 'I love you' to her instead. Saying that would have brought himself great relief, but would it have done the same for Adriaan? No; she would probably be very upset about it. Ember was right; calling her 'big sister' was probably the best thing Wolf ever could have done for thought crossed his mind that perhaps that was truly what love was; sacrificing himself for the sake of others. The best way he could show his love for Adriaan was by immolating his personal feelings and obeying his Commander.

"You called me…big sister, as if I was one of you guys; part of the squad," she said slowly, her face glowing with surprised jubilation.

_ I love you! _He wanted to scream, but he bit his tongue and smiled instead. "Well, that's what you are, right? You're one of us now. Part of Birov Alii'gai squad ––– the Rainbow Squad. The General of the ELF Commandos."

She stood up suddenly and threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly. _Oh, Fierfek__. _"That's the best thing you ever could have said to me, _ner vod ––– _mybrother. Thank you," she whispered, her lips so close to his ear that it sent a shiver down his spine. She released him just as quickly as she had embraced him, and ––– seemingly oblivious to the red flush of embarrassment on Wolf's face ––– swept out of the room to get changed.

Wolf sat down on the bed, picking up his swim trunks off the floor. "Curse you, Ember," he groaned. "Fierfek."

Adriaan had called him her brother, and he had twelve identical brothers whom he could count on to watch his back, but right now he felt like the loneliest being in the entire universe.

* * * * *

Adriaan was glad that her Padawans had already practically cleared the swimming area by the time she and Wolf came down. Besides the Jedi and the clones, the only people who were still there were mostly teenagers or young adults ––– people who tended to notice a group of ultra-fit young people and twelve men who looked almost exactly alike. Adriaan stopped for a moment at the edge of the pool, a feeling of pride washing over her as she gazed down at her raucous, obnoxious young trainees. They were certainly in their prime; both the boy and girl Padawans were all lean muscle, and the clones were solidly built, with not a hint of fat on them. A bunch of beach bodies ––– no wonder all those young Galactic citizens were still here, watching this strange team of super-athletic teens.

Right now they were playing a game, a really fun game, by the looks of it. Klamin, the shapeshifter, had morphed into a tiny glimmerfish and was swimming around in the pool, expertly eluding everyone's attempts to catch him. At one point he leaped high into the air and shapeshifted into a Wookiee, bodyslamming the pool and sending sheets of water high into the air, dousing everyone in the vicinity.

Adriaan and Wolf went over to an empty beach chair and threw their towels on top of it. Glancing around, Adriaan observed that Darc was the only member of the group not participating in the catch-the-Klamin game. Instead, he was taking part in his favorite activity: flirting.

"Moron," Adriaan muttered. "He must've thought I wasn't going to come down, otherwise he would be in the pool right now. They haven't been down here for half an hour, and already Darc is trying to make all the girls fall in love with him, just so that he can break their hearts when it's time for us to leave. He makes me sick."

"I don't think he's having much success," Wolf pointed out, observing the annoyed look on the face of a particularly stunning blue Twi'lek sunning in one of the beach chairs.

"Hey, Chun-be! I thought you promised to get some exercise, you _di'kut!_" Adriaan shouted, causing Darc to jump out of his seat in alarm.

"Wha ––– oh, um, hey, Ree," Darc said a little nervously. "I was just…taking a short break after winning the relay race we did. Guess what, my team won!"

"Uh-huh…and how long ago did you swim this race?"

"Um…fifteen minutes ago."

"Wow, and you're already dry as a Tattooine desert!" Adriaan pointed out. She hauled Darc to his feet and stood in front of him with her hands on her hips, her face just centimeters from his. "Don't lie to me again, Chun-be," she spat. "Wolf, _kalikir di'kut ––– _skewer this useless individual!"

"What?! You can't be serious! You're insane!" Darc yelped as Wolf, baring his perfect white teeth in a truly terrifying grimace, advanced, picked up Chun-be with as much ease as if he were lifting a child, and threw him headlong into the water like a ragdoll, to the great amusement of Kay Lee and the Twi'lek woman Darc had been antagonizing.

"Hahah! Dumb old Darc got dumped_!_" The Wicked Club yelled. "WICKED!"

"_Kandosii__! _That was well done, Wolf!" Cor yelled.

Adriaan felt it necessary to apologize on her former friend's behalf; it wouldn't do for a member of her team to be riling citizens. "Ma'am, I am so sorry if my, uh, friend was pestering you," Adriaan said to the girl.

The Twi'lek didn't seem to hear her; she was staring with starlit eyes at Wolf and his powerful body. "Ah, it was no problem, really. At least it gave me a chance to see your, uh…muscular friend in action."

Wolf turned from the pool and seemed to see the woman for the first time. "Oh, uh, it was no problem, ma'am," he said, clicking his heels together and curbing his habit to salute just in time. Adriaan suppressed a sigh; her boys were wonderful in all sorts of ways, but one thing they could never be good at was blending in with young Galactic citizens. They were too fit, military protocol was too ingrained in their brains, and they were just simply too naïve about normal life. They knew almost nothing about jobs, families, social life. They always carried themselves erect, they always snapped to attention and answered with a prompt "Yes, ma'am!" "Yes, sir!" "No sir!" "Right away, ma'am!" "Sorry, ma'am!" No one acted that way in the regular galaxy; the clones couldn't be mistaken for anyone else except extremely excellent soldiers.

"I'm the aide of Senator Faya Thor of the planet Htrae; we stopped in Kuat for a few days to take a look at some luxury cruisers. How about you? Are you a ruler or a senator? You must be; you carry yourself with such dignity, and you have such noble features. Surely, you can't be anything less."

Adriaan grinned wryly, wondering what the Senate aide would think if Wolf told her that he was a Republic soldier; a man bred and sold as a slave warrior.

"Ambassador Neela Rain's bodyguard," Wolf said, indicating Adriaan. "From the planet Goba Shag."

"Ah, Goba Shag? That is quite close to Htrae. Perhaps whenever you get off duty you could stop by and visit me…?"

"Ah, I'm never off-duty, ma'am," Wolf said, and then he took a running leap and dove into the pool, leaving Adriaan to stand in awkward silence next to a very indignant Twi'lek aide.

_Ooh, that was real smooth, Wolf, _she thought. She couldn't really think of anything else to say to the Twi'lek, and anyway her teammates were yelling at her to jump into the pool and help them catch the slippery Shi'Odo fish, so she took her leave of the aide and jumped off the edge and into the foaming, churning water.

She surfaced to find herself in the nucleus of a mass of roiling Padawans and clone troopers, whooping and hollering and coughing and spluttering as they darted this way and that and sank underwater, each of them determined to catch fish-Klamin first. Adriaan, treading water in the twelve-meter deep pool, spied a small silver shape darting through the murky liquid. Drag, his attention completely absorbed by the fish, knocked Adriaan over as he dove for the little grey sliver.

"I got him!" Drag yelled as he resurfaced.

"Ow! That's my foot!" Marya yelped. "Keep your hands off me, will you?"

"It's coming toward me!" Kay shrieked as the silver shape streaked forward.

"WICKED!" Aedan yelled, jumping in the water right over the fish. He came up spluttering and flailing his arms in the air. "Help! I can't GOODLY swim!"

"You were swimming just fine in the relay race," Kay pointed out.

"I GOODLY forgot how! Help!"

"We'll save you, WICKED Aedan!" Jahn Pal bawled, leaving the safety of the shallow end of the pool and jumping in to the deep water. He surfaced next to Aedan and began to flail his arms frantically.

"Sai'wer! Help! I just remembered that I can't swim!" Jahn Pal yelled. He grabbed Aedan and pinned the boy's arms to his sides as he clung to the Wicked King, forcing Aedan's face into the water.

"Stop, you idiot! You're drowning me!" Aedan shrieked, forcing his head to the surface.

Heatrian, whose biological makeup made it impossible for him to submerge himself in water, was pacing the edge of the swimming pool, looking as if he were on the verge of jumping in himself. "Nic, Andre, Sai'wer! Save him, you GOODS!"

Nic and Andre, who were diving underwater in relays to keep a lookout on the fish, glanced over at Aedan and Jahn Pal. "I'm no GOOD lifeguard," Andre said huffily.

"Me, neither," Nic said, sinking underwater again as the fish came around.

"How about you, Sai'wer?" Heatrian asked hopefully.

"Oh, yes," Sai'wer said proudly. "I can swim about as well as a bantha."

"But banthas can't swim…"

"Sai'wer to the WICKED rescue!" Sai'wer howled, jumping in after Jahn Pal and Aedan.

Now Aedan had two pudgy boys on top of him, weighing him down so that he could no longer keep his head above the water. Adriaan figured she'd better go over and help the poor kid out. All it took was six strokes across the pool to grab the three "drowners" by their arms and haul them back to the shallow end, where there was less chance of Aedan getting killed by the stupidity of his "genius" friends.

"_Ori'vod! Ori'vod! _I caught him!" Wolf shouted ecstatically. Adriaan turned to see her adopted little brother grasping fish-Klamin in his fist, waving the shapeshifter triumphantly in the air.

Adriaan smiled. "_Oya! _Go you!" she hollered encouragingly.

The fish shuddered in Wolf's hand and suddenly morphed into a Mon Calamari. "Good game," he said. "Man, you're fast; I didn't even see you coming."

"I've caught fish with my bare hands many times before," Wolf said as an explanation for his success. "Kamino is an aquatic world, so I had plenty of opportunities to practice there. All of us soldiers had to take a compulsory class in catching fish, just in case we were stuck behind enemy lines and had to hunt for our own food."

"It wasn't an unfair advantage, Wolf," Kay said. "You guys had the training, but us Padawans had the Force. So it was a fair game."

"Who's up for another round?" Klamin called out. "This time, I think I'll turn into a microorganism. See if you guys can catch me then!"

Everyone laughed uproariously at this.

"_You cannot hide."_

Adriaan shivered. Why did the water seem cold all of a sudden? She had heard someone…no, how could she have heard anyone speak in all this racket? She had sensed something…something bad.

Just then something heavy shoved her behind and knocked her flat on her face into the water. Fearing an attack, she resurfaced immediately, fists raised and her nose smarting from the water she had inhaled.

"Ah, sorry, _ori'vod,_" Wolf said apologetically, patting her on the shoulder. His face reddened suddenly, and he lowered his eyes and stepped away quickly, turning away as he renewed his search for fish-Klamin.

Adriaan looked around, wondering what had made Wolf act so embarrassed. _Okay, that was just a little weird. _Perhaps he had breached trooper protocol by bowling over his Jedi General. That was probably it. Adriaan shook her head, grinning wryly. All the clones ––– excluding Rez, who was the most insouciant and sociable young man she had ever met ––– needed to learn how to relax. It wasn't the end of the world if they made a couple of little mistakes ––– at least, it wasn't for Adriaan. She couldn't say the same for their Kaminoan trainers, beings who were reportedly obsessed with perfection.

"_We will never stop hunting you. There is no escape."_

Adriaan shook the droplets of water from her hair. _Get a hold on yourself, _she told herself sternly, _stop acting as if those voices inside your head are real._

Something black and white flashed across her vision; a black spiral bound to a pale ivory hand. The memory rose unbidden to her mind.

_"You are now slaves of the dark side. Welcome to the Order of the Cult of Ragnos, Adriaan ell Talaan. Now nothing can hide you from us. You are bound to us forever."_

_ "Darc, Darc, cut off my hand!" she screamed. _

_ "You're mad!" he shouted. "Get a hold of yourself!"_

_ "No! No! Better only one arm and be free than two arms and be a slave. Cut it off!"_

How many times she had wished she hadn't had her right arm; how many times she had wished the tattoo wasn't there, a sign to all of her bondage to a sith cult.

_Don't be ridiculous. A tattoo doesn't make you a member of a sith cult. It's just a tattoo. Get over it._

Adriaan closed her eyes, willing herself to be calm.

_Now nothing can hide you from us._

Her eyes snapped open, realizing what she had just seen a few seconds ago. The tattoo ––– _her _tattoo ––– on the arm of another person.

"_Oya!" _Wolf was holding up fish-Klamin again. Either Klamin was a very slow fish ––– which Adriaan doubted, since it had taken her companions quite some time to catch him ––– or Wolf had a very low chance of starving to death out in the wilderness.

"Play again?" Klamin asked, shapeshifting into a human. "Or do you want to play 'catch the Darc' instead?"

"That sounds like a fun game," Kay said, smirking wickedly as she glanced at Darc. "How long do we get to hold him underwater after we catch him?"

"For as long as you like," Ember answered, grinning at the pale hue Darc's face had taken.

"Okay, let's start," Wolf said, moving toward Adriaan. "Want to play, ma'am?"

"In a moment," Adriaan said, distracted. On impulse, she reached out and placed her hand on the clone's shoulder. "Um, Wolf, did you see the girl that walked by a few minutes ago?"

Wolf frowned, puzzled. "Perhaps…but there are many girls here."

"She was very pale, white hair, white eyes…Arkanian, I think. She had four fingers on each hand…yes, she was definitely Arkanian." She stiffened as the Force surged; the flash of black and white appeared on her scopes again. "See, there. Fourteen or fifteen years old, about my height, blue swimsuit. Do you see her?!"

Wolf turned and stared in the direction Adriaan was pointing. "I'd say about fifteen years old, ma'am," he observed, "with a powder blue tankini."

Adriaan fought down the impatient retort that rose to her lips. "Okay, she's fifteen years old and wearing a powder blue tankini. So you see her?"

"Affirmative."

Adriaan swallowed. "Okay, now look at the hand she's lifting to push back her hair."

Wolf saw it. She heard his sharp intake of breath. "Oh."

"You see it?"

"Black spiral tattoo on her right arm?"

"Yes. So I'm not imagining things?"

"No, ma'am. It's definitely there."

"I don't suppose you brought that tracking dust with you when you came down here?"

"I always come prepared, ma'am."

In ordinary circumstances, Adriaan would have laughed at the seemingly unnecessary precaution of bringing military kit to a public pool, but right now she couldn't have been any prouder of him. "Good boy, little brother; now go fetch it. I'll get her set up for you. Go go go!"

Wolf took off, sprinting for the beach chairs where they had set their towels. Adriaan watched with mixture of amusement and pride as he withdrew a small packet that had been hidden in his bunched up towel.

"This should be enough," he said. "We'll need to get close enough so that she inhales it; we don't want it to come off when she jumps into a pool or changes her clothes or anything."

"Right." Adriaan took the packet. "Wolf, I have to know; what else did you bring down here?"

He paused. "Just a holdout blaster and some alpha charges…I never go anywhere without some sort of protection."

Leave it to Wolf to be a walking munitions depot. "If I didn't need this dust, I would call you paranoid."

"Nothing wrong with trying to keep us all alive, ma'am."

Adriaan peeled back the wrapping and inspected the contents. GAR Procurement Development had invented dust fairly recently; it was espionage equipment, designed to track targets or monitor battlefields. The powdery substance was actually composed of microscopic transmitters which would adhere to the subject and actively transmit the target's location for about four weeks.

The best way to tag a suspect was by getting them to inhale the dust, so it wouldn't get washed or taken off. After the suspect was tagged, an optical EM filter would be used to detect the electromagnetic emissions and track the target. Adriaan and Wolf just had to figure out an inconspicuous way to make the Arkanian inhale the dust.

"I've got an idea," Adriaan said quietly.

"Fill me in."

"I'm clumsy."

Wolf's eyebrows shot up. "I beg your pardon?"

"I'm clumsy, and you're just a big bully that likes to push everyone out of his way."

"With all due respect, ma'am, you're incorrect."

"I know that, Wolf," Adriaan said. "I'm going to _pretend_ that I'm clumsy, and you're going to _pretend _be someone who prefers to shove people out of the way instead of being a gentleman and saying, 'excuse me'"

"Ahhh…"

"What? Is there something wrong with the plan?"

"Nah, it's brilliant."

"Okay. Get going."

Adriaan slid her slippers onto her feet, observing the damp floor with approval. The slick surface would make the incident even more realistic. Using her peripheral vision to locate the Arkanian cultist, she began to walk in a random pattern around the pool, keeping her gaze on the swimmers.

"Go Kay! Go Kan! Yeah! You almost got 'im!" she yelled, shuffling along the edge of the pool, pretending to be completely absorbed in her companions' game and cheering them on. "Whoo! Yeah! Knock him out!"

Adriaan felt rather than saw the alien getting closer to her. The Arkanian was busy typing information onto her datapad; she wasn't interested in Adriaan at all. Adriaan didn't care if the Arkanian thought her unworthy of interest; in fact, better she not notice the Jedi at all, until it was too late.

"Whoa! Keep clear of the edge, Ambassador! You're going to fall in!" Darc shouted.

"All right! All right!" Adriaan yelled, stepping back to allow herself more room. "There! Is that better?"

"Thank you, Ambassador. Now, if you don't mind, could you stop cheering on these barbarians and come in to give me a hand?"

"Sorry! This is too fun to watch!" Adriaan took another step backward as the Arkanian slowly came closer. The girl's eyes were still glued to her datapad. _I wonder what she's reading, _Adriaan wondered. _Perhaps I can take a peek at it when I…_

RV point. Moment of impact. Let's go, Wolf.

"Coming through!" Adriaan was suddenly knocked clear off her feet and sent flying in a sideways somersault as Wolf steamrolled her with the ease of a professional smashball player. _Oh, sithspit, there's no way I can tag her with me spinning out of control like this. _She called upon the Force in a lastditch attempt, slowing down time until one second seemed to last an eternity. Adriaan had stopped her headlong collision into the cultist; she saw the frozen look of shock written across the Arkanian's face in the crystal clarity of slow motion. Adriaan twisted around so that she was falling forward, and she thrust her arms out to stop her fall. As her hands came up before the Arkanian's face, she uncurled her fist, the fist that held the packet of dust…

Time was set in motion again. The Arkanian let out a gasp of surprise, and instantaneously, the dust spilled out of the packet, only to be immediately sucked into the girl's open mouth. Hoping that the girl was not attune enough to sense that she had inhaled a substance other than air and its regular contaminants, Adriaan barreled right into the cultist and sent them both sprawling on the wet floor.

"_Keepuna__!_" the girl sputtered. "Watch where you're going!"

"I am _so _sorry," Adriaan said, jumping to her feet and wincing at the pain in her hip. _Man, I seriously hope that's just a bruise. _She extended her hand to help the girl to her feet, glaring accusingly at Wolf's retreating figure as she did so. "That dumb boy just shoved me into you. It was his fault!"

The girl opened her mouth to say something that was no doubt profane, when her eyes fell on Adriaan's outstretched hand. Her gaze traveled up the Jedi's arm until her eyes met Adriaan's. Then, slowly, a smile curled her lips. "It is no matter," she said. Suddenly she grabbed Adriaan's arm and yanked her forward. "Are you a Chosen One?" she breathed.

Adriaan hardly knew what the girl meant by a "Chosen One" but she supposed it was some cult password, so she nodded. "Yes."

Much to Adriaan's puzzlement, the girl responded with an enthusiastic embrace. Even more astonishing was the fact that the hug felt affectionate. Heartfelt. Genuine.

_Fierfek, do I have this all wrong? Is this kid truly a sith Disciple? _

"You and I are like sisters, then: united by the same noble cause!" the girl cried.

Arkanians generally thought themselves evolutionarily superior to other races; this was the first time Adriaan had heard of someone of that species who fancied a mere human fit enough to be referred to as a "sister" Adriaan was becoming greatly confused. The girl didn't match sith cultist criteria at all.

Adriaan had had plenty of encounters with sith, and none of them had been like this girl. Dark side adepts had all seemed cold, foreign, aloof. The girl's warm reception was more unsettling to Adriaan than if she had greeted the Jedi with a string of Huttese expletives; Adriaan suddenly wanted to get far away from this girl, to run away and hide in the hotel room, where she wouldn't have to face this woman, whose personality contradicted affiliation.

"Are you a fellow initiate, or one of the Masters?" the Arkanian asked now.

"Huh? Oh…initiate, like you," Adriaan said, figuring that a rookie identity would best cover up her ignorance. "Neela Rain; who are you?"

"Elsil Helek, but we're really not supposed to be calling each other by name in public places. Didn't you attend that introductory talk given by _Malis'ari?_"

_Malis'ari. _Lord Malis. If that wasn't a sith name, then Aedan was the most well-behaved, obedient, trustworthy Padawan in the Jedi Order. Adriaan began to feel more reassured that the Arkanian was what she thought she was. "Oh, I guess I skipped that lecture," she said rather lamely.

"Really? Then you must not have been briefed on our upcoming objective…I mean, you must not have heard about the party," Elsil said with a giggle that was achingly similar to Jordin's laugh.

_Get it out of your head. This is the enemy, not your Padawan; Jordin and Elsil are about as similar as sunshine and darkness. They have absolutely nothing in common._

"No, I didn't get the invitation," Adriaan answered, wondering what the "party" was. _Probably not something I would want to go to, _she reflected as she added, "I've been out of contact for a while because the last party I went to was quite…exhilarating." She paused, watching Elsil's facial expression to see if she understood what she meant. _I nearly got caught by the police. _Elsil nodded, acknowledging that she knew what Adriaan was talking about. "So I've been resting for a few days after that hectic night; you know how it is, the morning right after a wild festivity. So, what's the scoop on this new party? Same theme, or what?" _So I've been laying low for a few days so I wouldn't get caught. What's our next objective? Is it similar to the last one, or is our target going to be different?_

"You should have seen Uadjii last night; he ate four bantha burgers before he even remembered to wipe his face with a napkin. Seriously, boys are so gross sometimes." Helek didn't appear to be answering Adriaan's question, but the Jedi suspected that the Arkanian was giving her the mission objective in code. _Wolf will probably know what she's saying. _"Anyway, the party is two days from now; same place, same time as before. Just make sure you wear your blue-black eye shadow to the event, 'cause that's what all us girls decided to wear. We're all going in matching outfits; black cocktail dress, blue sash, blue-black eye shadow. Okay? I think Bes is planning on having us do that dance we choreographed last year. Remember?"

This girl sure knew how to write between the lines. Adriaan could only hope that she would be able to figure out what Elsil meant before the operation would take place. Two days from now. With twenty-some people applying their brains to cracking this code, she was sure she'd be able to do it in that time.

"Okay, I'll be there," Adriaan said.

"_Queshii Jidai!" _Helek said with a smile that again reminded Adriaan of Jordin, and then the Arkanian ambled off, animatedly tapping on her datapad as she finished her text message.

Adriaan, realizing that she had forgotten to take a look at the datapad screen, could only stare after Elsil in shock. That girl was full of contradictions; she walked and talked like any nonsensical, girly teenager, but her parting words were anything but light and cheerful.

Wolf sauntered up behind her. "Well, that played out nicely. She's transmitting on the EM filter like a homing beacon. _ Kandosii_, _ori'vod._" He shifted uncomfortably when she gave no answer; Adriaan could feel his puzzlement through the Force. "_Ori'vod? _Come on, what's wrong? Did we tag the wrong target?"

Adriaan turned around slowly and met his anxious, dark eyes with her own solemn blue ones. "No, she was the right one. Who else would know how to say, 'Curse the Jedi' in sith language?"


	5. Chapter 4: Sithspit

**Note: ABG stands for After the Battle of Geonosis.**

**Disclaimer: _Star Wars _is not mine, nor is the Mandalorian language and culture. **

**As usual, reviews are appreciated.**

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Chapter 4

_"Fear not for the future, weep not for the past." – _Jedi saying, origin unknown

✶ Kuat City Hotel, 1900, 404 days ABG ✶

"How can you be sure she was a cultist?" Kay asked for the two-hundredth time that evening. The group had all congregated in the girls' room after dinner to discuss the incident at the pool, which had apparently only been witnessed by Adriaan and Wolf. Marya, sweating so profusely that she looked like she had just gotten out of the shower, was sprawled on top of a sleep couch she had all to herself because everyone had moved upwind of her, on account of her smelling like the back-end of a bantha.

"She had a tattoo identical to General ell Talaan's," Wolf said.

Kay snorted. "So what? What's so strange about her having a tattoo that looks the same as the one that's on Adriaan's arm? Is _Adriaan_ a cultist?"

"No," Adriaan said. "But that pirate organization I was enslaved to a few years ago was in reality a group of sith disciples, and they were the ones who marked me with this tattoo. Members of that sith sect tattoo themselves in this way, to show their bondage to the dark side."

"Well, suppose this girl was like you ––– a Force-sensitive coerced to serve sith cultists?" Klamin suggested. "Perhaps she was a member of your slave revolt."

Adriaan shook her head. "No; if she was, I would have recognized her, for I knew all the slaves whom I liberated." She paused to let that statement sink in. "Besides, would a former slave of sith pirates use a dark side rallying call? Her parting words were, 'Curse the Jedi!' in sith language. Who but an ally of the sith would say that?"

"Well, it's a good thing Wolf thought to bring that espionage stuff down to the pool," Kay said. "Thanks, Wolf."

Wolf, who had been watching the movement of the Arkanian on the optical EM filter, glanced up. "Any time, ma'am."

"Man, you are _so_ paranoid if you had to bring weapons to a _pool. _What are you, kid, a Neimodian or something?" Darc guffawed.

"No, he's smart, unlike some people I know," Adriaan said, rallying to Wolf's defense. Kay guffawed at the jab at Darc. "Now, back to business. I guess the thing we should do now is to…"

"General ell Talaan, there's a message left on your comlink from Senator Danu," Ember interrupted. They were allowed to use names freely in the room since Nano had set up an encrypted holo-receiver to prevent anyone from eavesdropping.

"Put it through."

Ember activated the holo-message, and a miniature, bluish image of the Senator appeared, shimmering in the air like a ghost. "Ambassador, I have just received word from the principal director of KDY. You are invited to discuss business over lunch with Onara Kuat in her private apartments at noon tomorrow. She seemed very excited to meet the esteemed Ambassador of Goba Shag." Giddean paused. "I wish you luck, for you'll certainly need all the luck you can get tomorrow."

The holo faded abruptly. Kan raised his eyebrows. "'You'll certainly need all the luck you can get tomorrow'? What does he mean by that?"

Adriaan smiled wryly. "Senator Danu and Onara Kuat can hardly be described as friends. Sure, Onara was the one who supported Danu's rise to the seat of Senator of Kuat, but rumor was she only supported him because she believed him to be manipulatable. Apparently, she hadn't gotten along too well with the previous Kuati Senator, so she nominated Giddean as the replacement. It was a bad move for her ––– he doesn't support the increased militarization, while Onara does, since KDY has benefitted greatly from the war. The Grand Army is its most valued customer; if the fighting stops, the GAR no longer needs new warships. Therefore, KDY is an avid supporter of the military.

"Onara has tried to correct her mistake by attempting to remove Giddean from office, but to no avail; Senator Danu has kept a firm hold on his position so far. So, as you can see, the Senator and the principal director are at odds with one another."

"Wow, he must really have a great deal of respect for Jedi if he had deigned to ask his rival to do us a favor," Kay remarked.

"Indeed," Adriaan agreed.

"It appears that the rumors of Giddean's pro-Jedi principles are true, Master," Kan crowed. "We owe him our eternal gratitude."

"Correct, Padawan," Adriaan said humbly. She suddenly grinned, as if she had said something that was very funny. "See, I said you were correct! Your lifetime goal has been achieved!"

Kan allowed himself to join his Master in her laughter; this was the first in a long time that he and Adriaan had been able to joke with each other without getting into a big spat. _Perhaps this mission won't be so bad, after all, _he thought hopefully. _Maybe this is the chance to reestablish my friendship with Adriaan. _

"…So I suggest we turn in for the night, ma'am," Ember was saying. "We've gotten quite a bit done in the past twelve hours or so."

"What. The. Heck. That is so kriffing stupid. It's like, only kriffing seven o'clock in the evening." Marya again. She had gotten into a bad habit of using a colorful vocabulary to express her disagreement.

"We have a long day ahead of us, Padawan Yon," Adriaan answered. "Best get some shuteye while we can, because we may have some sleepless nights ahead of us. Ember is right; we've done enough for one day."

"But I'm kriffing not tired…"

"If you're not tired, then you must've not done enough Koré," Adriaan said sharply.

Marya was uncharacteristically uncomplaining after that.

Kan followed the boys back to their own room. Ignoring the chatter going on between his companions, Kan stripped down to his undertunic, brushed his teeth, and hit the first bunk he reached, which was fortunately far away from the area the Wicked Club was camping out in.

"WICKED-bye, and GOODnight, go to sleep _forever_, GOODS. When you wake, you shall WICKEDLY see ugly Aedan's face in your face! His breath will make you WICKEDLY puke, for it smells like bantha diarrhea…"

A year ago, Kan might've been sensitive enough to the raucous caterwauling to bury his head under his pillow in a futile attempt to shut out the sound, but he was so used to hearing the Wicked Club sing out of tune that he was able to fall asleep in a matter of seconds.

* * * * *

_ "He's surrendering!" Jordin called out to Kan triumphantly._

_ Kan covered his head and screamed as the detonator arced through the air, landed on Jordin's head, exploded in a shower of red and orange fire. _

_ "I wonder what it is like to be bald I wonder what it is like to be deaf I wonder what it is like to be blind I wonder what it is like to be bad I wonder what it is like to be dead…"_

_ Blood and fire rained down on his exposed body, and he suddenly had a lapse of memory and couldn't remember if he was on Geonosis or Umbria. All he knew was that someone whom he dearly loved was dead, and now he was all alone…_

_ He dared to open his eyes again. Jordin was walking down a battlefield, the blood of the fallen staining her white dress bright red with each step that she took into the war zone. Kan called out to her, and he thought he saw her pause, but she didn't turn. She kept on walking._

_ "Jordin! Jordin come back!"_

_ "Kyr'am tracyn hettir mhi an. Kando be kote atin'la ba jorir. Cuun ka'rtase brokar solus sa mhi taabir bah tal'galaar par hut'uune! The fires of _death_ consume us all. The _weight_ of glory is hard to bear. Our hearts _beat_ as one as we march to spill our _blood_ for cowards." It was a woman's voice that was singing this, but for some reason, Kan knew that the voice belonged to Jordin. Struggling to his feet, he began to run after her._

_ "Jordin!"_

_ "Naasade n'ulu meg mhi'cuyir. Naasade n'ulu meg ven'mhi cuyir. Naasade n'ulu par Vode mhi ganar echoy'la. Par narser beh b'ash'ad vercopa." A new voice ––– deeper, older than Jordin's ––– sang._

_ Adriaan suddenly appeared at Jordin's side, and the two women sang together as they marched across the blood-soaked ground._

_ "No one cares who we are. No one cares who we'll become. No one cares for the brothers we've lost for the sake of someone else's dream," Jordin answered._

_ "Kyr'am tracyn hettir mhi an!" Adriaan chanted._

_ "The fires of death consume us all…"_

_ "Sa mhi tal'onidir par auretiise…"_

_ "As we sweat blood for traitors…"_

_ "Mhi darmav akaan'ade beh shabla Tsad Droten…"_

_ "We are the slave army of a Doomed Republic…"_

_ "A cuun tal'onidir cuun kartase mav!"_

_ "But our sacrifice sets our hearts free!"_

_ Kan ran as hard as he could, but he couldn't seem to catch up to them. He watched hopelessly as they faded farther and farther away into the distance. He tried to inhale and get a fresh spurt of speed, but his lungs wouldn't obey. They had forgotten how to breathe; his heart had forgotten how to beat, how to keep him alive…_

_ "Jordin! Somebody help me!" he screamed._

_ "Adriaan! Adriaan!"_

_ There was someone else running beside him, shouting his Master's name, willing her to turn back. Kan tried to turn his head to see his companion, but some will that was stronger than his own keep his gaze focused ahead._

_ "Adriaan! Adriaan! Come back!" Kan couldn't tell if the voice belonged to a male or a female, an old person or a young one, an enemy or a friend; he just knew it sounded familiar. This was someone he knew. _

Who are you? _He asked his companion silently._

_ Atoya. Atin'oya. Atoya Hodasal._

I know no one of that name. Who are you?

_Atoya Hodasal. The hunter whom you cannot see._

_ They were moving faster now ––– either that, or the girls were walking slower ––– for Kan and his mysterious companion seemed to be gaining ground. He was within arms' reach of Jordin now. Stretching out his hand, he lunged forward and brushed her on the shoulder._

"Jordin!"

_She whirled around at his touch, but she was not Jordin. Her skin was dark, smooth; a rich, tanned color. Her hair was an inky black, falling over her face in dark, voluminous waves. As Kan looked into her eyes, he was startled to find them contrasting sharply to the color of her skin. They were blue, blue as a clear summer sky, and deep, thoughtful, and infinite as the star-flecked universe._

_ "You have Adriaan's eyes. Are you Adriaan?"_

No, _the girl said ––– her mouth didn't move, but he heard her voice in his head. It was calm, pleasant, soothing to his ears. _

I am Adriaan, _Adriaan said, turning toward him. _Who are you?

_ "You know me. I am Kan. Your Apprentice."_

I know you not.

"_What are you talking about? Of course you know me! Kan Enik? Ruru Xelan's former Apprentice; the kid who stowed away on your ship when you flew to Geonosis…"_

_ Adriaan continued to shake her head. _No.

_"Fine; if you refuse to say that you know me, can you at least tell me where Jordin is?" Kan asked, feeling a sudden impatience with the women. Why were they staring at him like that? _

_ There's something wrong with them…_

_ Adriaan wasn't looking at him. She was gazing at the dark girl beside her, her expression like one who was seeing things from far away. She was detached. Emotionless. Dead._

The war ends with its beginning_, she said. _

_ "What?"_

The war ends with betrayal. Heartbreak. Sacrifice. Best friends turning into arch enemies. The war ends as it has begun.

_"What do you mean?" Kan asked._

Don't you recognize her?

_Kan looked at the girl he had mistaken for Jordin. Her face looked familiar…the image rose unbidden to his mind._

_ "Let the execution begin!"_

_ Back on Geonosis. Kan looked up into the balcony. A scarred, stern face which looked as if it had been formed from a chunk of alkali ––– the soil which encompassed the entire planet –– instead of flesh and blood, gazed down at the arena, watching the two Jedi and the Senator dodging the wild beasts set upon them._

_Jango Fett. The man who killed He who was like my father…_

Don't you know my face?

_Atoya Hodasal ––– Wolf ––– was standing in front of him now, standing beside the girl whom he recognized, but had never met. As the clone and the girl stared at Kan, the two faces seemed to mingle, blend into one image…_

_ The girl had Jango Fett's face._

_ A female Fett…_

_ The Temple towers going up in smoke. The Jedi Temple on fire, and soldiers, soldiers in white, running into the building, shooting…_

_ The fires of death consume us all…_

"No no no! Sir, I won't execute that order! I won't shoot her down!"

Kan fell off his bunk and hit the floor, the blankets falling down on top of him. Struggling from the suffocating cocoon of sheets he had wrapped around himself, he jumped to his feet, searching for the person who had cried out in his sleep and woken up the Apprentice.

Wolf was wide awake, sitting up in bed and staring at Kan, his eyes gleaming ardently in the night. A fine sheen of sweat glistened on his skin, as if he had just completed a strenuous workout. The sound of ragged breathing penetrated the thick quiet, and Kan realized after several moments that both he and the clone were panting spasmodically.

"What's wrong, trooper?"

"Ad…General ell Talaan," Wolf gasped out.

"What?"

Then the Force surged through Kan, followed by the rush of adrenaline that comes before one plunges headlong into peril. But Kan wasn't in danger.

His Master was.

"She's in trouble! Don't you sense it?!" Wolf threw the blanket off his body and leaped to his feet. "She's going to get killed!"

"What?" Darc murmured, his voice fogged with sleep. "What did I do wrong _this _time?"

Kan, reaching for the lightsaber he had hidden in his tunic, started after the clone. Wolf, stripped to the waist and cradling a big, heavy-looking rifle in his arms, charged right into the door, knocking it inwards as he plunged into the girls' room.

"One move and this round will punch right through you!" Wolf shouted menacingly, his voice uncharacteristically loud and angry-sounding. Kan had never seen a clone look so furious before. The veins were popping from the tensed muscles in his neck and bare shoulders as he jammed the rifle butt into his shoulder and took aim at someone in the room…

Kan peeked around Wolf's hulking figure and gasped. Adriaan was standing by the window, a red lightsaber activated and poised defensively in front of her body. She hardly registered Kan's and Wolf's rather dramatic entry into the room; she was staring at three strange, unidentified figures that were blotting out the silver-blue light emanating from the window. The whole area was completely pitch-black except for the four red lightsabers that cut through the thick blanket of darkness.

Kan stared at the other lightsaber wielders, his mouth hanging open in shock. He hardly needed Force-sensitivity to guess that the others were a sith cultists; the sight of the dark, looming shapes holding red lightsabers practically screamed "bad guys"

"Get away from her now!" Wolf yelled.

_Dude, calm down, _Kan thought, _screaming isn't going to correct the situation._

Two of the opponents lunged toward Adriaan, who held them at bay with ill-disguised ease. But Wolf was still freaked out; he kept his rifle trained on the other cultist, who was creeping over to Adriaan's blind side to stab her from behind. Suddenly, a blue laser bolt penetrated the gloom and struck him full in the chest.

"Gah!" the attacker reeled and fell to the floor, writhing like a worm. Wolf fired twice more, just to be sure the cultist was incapacitated, then turned and picked out his next target.

"Captain! Wake up and get out there! Help her!" Wolf yelled at Kan.

"Wolf, she's fine! She can handle them –––"

It certainly looked that way until the two sith, realizing that the Jedi was too powerful for them to contend with, changed their method of attack. As Kan's Master did a "falling leaf" leaping downward slash at them, they suddenly Force-pushed her away and kicked her out the window. The other girls wakened and shrieked as shattered glass rained down on them, and the attackers took advantage of the distraction by making their escape via the broken window.

"Master!" Kan pushed past Wolf and prepared to leap out the window after Adriaan, but he tripped in the gloom and fell over someone's prostrate body.

"Yow! What son of a gun just stepped on me?!" Marya shouted, her voice thick and sluggish with sleep. "What the…_Kan? Boys?_! What the brix are you doing in here?! Kay, help! There's _boys _in our room!"

"How egregious!" Andora cried out. "What odious intentions have conveyed them here…"

"Wolf, what's going on in here? Why aren't you in bed?" Ember asked from the next room. "Why is there glass on the floor? Who the brix broke the window? Stang, Wolf, what are you trying to do, compromise our whole mission? I know the proprietor of this hotel is a half-wit, but I doubt that even he could overlook this damage…"

"If you'll excuse me, sir," Wolf said calmly, pushing past his sleepy-eyed Commander as he ran out the door.

* * *

Adriaan screamed bloody murder as she plummeted towards certain death after falling out of the hotel window that was…she didn't even dare to think how high up.

_This has got to be the rudest awakening _ever_…_

She heard the whine of jetpacks above her head, and she tilted her eyes up just in time to see the two sith cultists grab her by the arms and haul her upwards. The Jedi began to struggle in their grasp, kicking and punching and headbutting them. Adriaan didn't know what they were going to do with her, but she was sure she'd prefer death by duracrete rather then by their hands.

"Pack it in!" one of them said, smacking her across the face with a gauntleted hand, leaving her mouth smarting and her ears ringing from the blow.

_That sounded like a male voice. Okay, I'll try to get out of this situation the old-fashioned way. _Adriaan turned to the one who had hit her and brought her knee hard against his groin.

_Crack. _

"Ow!" Adriaan yelped. Fierfek, the man was wearing full armor. So much for the groin technique. She elbowed both her attackers in the face, only to make the painful discovery that they were wearing helmets. She tried Force-pulling herself away from them, but had to stop when some invisible force started to constrict her throat. She tried straddle-kicking them to force them apart, but only succeeded in nearly ripping her own arms out of the sockets.

_Fierfek, I've taken twelve years of martial arts for nothing! _

Then she thought of something. Letting herself go limp, she blindly groped with her fingers to find the hand that held her arm in a vice-like grip. Carefully, she separated one finger from the others and pulled it backwards, all the way down to the man's wrist. Hard.

The cultist had all his major arteries and organs protected by plastoid armor, but his hands had to remain free to move, so they were only covered by supple leather gloves. Adriaan was glad that she had remembered such an obscure self-defense technique, for no sooner had she yanked the pinky down when she heard the soft _snick _of a finger bone snapping in half. The cultist yelped and immediately released her, sending the Jedi and the other captor in a lopsided flight as the jetpack of the injured cultist's companion strove to contend with the unevenly distributed weight of two adults. Adriaan, taking advantage of her captor's momentary distraction, brought her leg up and hook-kicked the cultist in the nearly nonexistent gap between helmet and chestplate.

"_Shutta!" _the opponent yelped, spinning out of control. Unfortunately, the momentum of the spin sent Adriaan flying headlong into a wall…

_Whack._

Adriaan felt her body fall into a deep abyss, only to be stopped by something solid and warm and faintly smelling of paint and fuel exhaust. She felt the low throbbing of an engine vibrating in the ear which was pressed against the metal surface, and dimly comprehended the voices of the two cultists talking over her head.

"Should we tie her up and stick her in the trunk?"

"She might find a way to get out. Better keep her in our sight…"

"Here, hand me those stun cuffs…right, strap her into the seat. We don't want her to fall out…"

"Sithspit, I think her friends are following us…"

"Step on it, you warp-lagged harpy_, _or I'll stick my lightsaber in your gut…"

Adriaan heard the deafening roar of the speeder engine shift from idle to drive, zooming through the space lanes at maximum speed.

Then she blacked out.

* * * * *

"There! There they are! In that speeder! Step on the gas, you son of a bantha!"

Wolf already had the accelerator pedal all the way down to the floor, but he made a great effort of making it look like he was picking up the speed. _Man, I really hope the cops aren't strict about speeding laws around here…_The speeder was shuddering, complaining as Wolf pushed it beyond its limits.

_Please, you old dirt crate, please hold together, _Wolf prayed.

Kan was practically standing up in his seat, his finger pointing right at the dark red speeder weaving in and out of the traffic lane right in front of them. The clone wanted to tell the Jedi Padawan to pack it in and try to relax because the shrieking was putting Wolf on edge, but he figured it wouldn't have the intended effect on the boy. So he stayed silent, keeping his attention on the target.

"Wolf, what the _haran _are you doing?" Ember's voice griped from the bead comlink embedded in Wolf's ear.

"Tailing the kidnappers," Wolf replied calmly, turning the speeder sideways to dodge an air taxi that was about to have a head-in collision with him.

"_Haar'chak! _They've kidnapped the…Ambassador?"

"Watch your language, Commander," Wolf said, swerving around a speeder that suddenly cut in front of him, "there is a Pada…_nobility_ present."

"He can't hear me swearing unless you have this on the Varactyl Clan link…"

"He does," Kan broke in. "He put on the Varactyl Clan link so Kay Lee can keep in contact with us."

There was an embarrassed pause on the other end. "My apologies, sir," Ember said. "I'm just ticked off. We should've set up a guard shift so that someone would have been awake and alert at all times…"

"The Ambassador should've thought of it herself," Kay Lee broke in. "After all, she's our leader. None of us could have anticipated this; we assumed ––– wrongly, unless we're just the random victims of a random cultist attack ––– our presence here was unknown. So stop griping and get your game faces on, boys; the thing to do now is to try to correct this minor error."

"I think, 'minor error' is putting it lightly," Kan said through clenched teeth as Wolf took the speeder into a steep dive.

"We're on our way over to help you two out. We're in the rental speeder parking lot now."

"Hey, our speeder is still here!" Wolf heard Klamin say.

"Wolf, if our rental speeder is still in the parking lot, what are you riding in?" Ember asked suspiciously.

"Um…" Wolf's heart leaped into his throat as he heard the far-off shriek of a police siren. _Please, please cops, don't chase me._

"Is that a police siren I'm hearing?"

"It's moving away from me, I think."

"Wolf, did you steal a speeder?"

"I didn't steal it, I _procured_ it. It's only borrowing; I'm not planning to keep this piece of junk. I'll put it back exactly where I found it, I promise."

Wolf heard Ember sigh. "I seriously hope this doesn't put the cops on our tail. The last thing we need is getting into trouble with the law."

"I'm going careful."

"By that dying mynock sound your engine is making, I'm guessing that you're going at least eight hundred klicks an hour. The speed law in this area is approximately six hundred klicks an hour, max. Is piloting an airspeeder two hundred klicks above the maximum speed limit called going careful?"

Wolf dared to look at the speed gauge. "Two hundred and twenty, actually," he said.

"You've got too much Fett left in your genetic template for my taste, son. I hope your speeder can take that speed."

"I stole…_procured _a Koro-2 Exodrive airspeeder; the maximum speed is eight hundred kilometers per hour. That good enough for you?"

"Slow down a bit; no need to take after the ARCs and go raw Jango. You're no good to the Ambassador if you end up in Kuat jail for grand theft and speeding."

"Hey, don't worry, if the cops end up on my tail I'll just shoot them." Wolf cut off the link as Ember started to swear again.

"You wouldn't really do that, would you?" Kan asked.

Wolf already had his attention focused on the cultists' speeder. "What's that, sir?"

"Shoot a police officer?"

"If he shot at me first, then yes."

"I mean…if he was simply hindering you. If he stopped you for a ticket, and wouldn't let you continue the chase. Would you really shoot him?" Kan was starting to sound a bit upset. "Your father…I mean, Jango Fett would do it, so I guess you might feel inclined to shoot a police officer, too…"

Wolf was rather taken aback. Kan had been right to correct himself when he had called Jango Wolf's father, but the clone supposed that the Padawan did have a point; Wolf had a modified version of the Mandalorian bounty hunter's genetic template, so of course it would be typical for him to have no scruples about killing police officers. Jango Fett had probably done so on a regular basis. The only thing was, it had never occurred to him that it would be natural for him to commit such a criminal act. He had always held the conviction that he was always fighting on the side of justice and freedom; no one had ever expressed the opinion that a clone trooper would retain the malfeasant qualities of the bounty hunter, Fett.

The thought made Wolf ponder Kan's question seriously: was he really joking when he said he'd shoot a police officer if one tried to stop him? Was he being completely serious?

"Unless the cop was classified as a traitor or an enemy target, I wouldn't shoot him," Wolf said finally.

Kan looked a little relieved, but his face clouded again when another thought hit him. "But what if it was a Jedi? If Adriaan ––– or any Jedi, for that matter ––– was classified as a traitor and Sepper sympathizer, would you shoot her?"

Perhaps Kan suspected something of Wolf's growing attachment to General ell Talaan, or perhaps he was simply questioning the clone troops' loyalty to the Jedi officers. Whatever the reason he had asked such a question, it was one Wolf didn't really want to answer. But the clone trainers had always told him to answer any question a Jedi asked him, so he couldn't say, "I can't answer that question" to any Jedi, even Kan.

"You better believe I would," Wolf said, trying to make his voice sound gruff and convincing. But it came off as rather shaky and uncertain, as if he wasn't quite sure if he would have the guts to shoot Adriaan if she had become a Republic enemy.

_I hope I never have to find out._

* * * * *

"_Makza!_ I hope they don't have armaments, because in a few seconds those Republic dogs are going to be breathing down our necks! Can't you drive any faster?! I thought the Force was supposed to give you quick reflexes or something."

"It does, but there's a limit to how fast this crate can go," a female voice answered.

"Are you trying to say that it's _my _fault they're gaining on us?"

"Of course not, _Iratus'ari._"

_Iratus'ari. Lord Iratus__. _Adriaan stifled a groan she slowly regained consciousness and her ability to feel pain. She moved her arms slightly. Stun cuffs. No lightsaber. No weapon. Utility belt gone. Fantastic. She dared to open her eyes just a crack, then shut them again as her senses were assaulted by a swirling, mesmeric scene of garish city lights flashing by her at two hundred and thirty-one meters per second. Not the best thing to be looking at when you're trying to recover from a minor concussion.

Using the "seeing without looking" Force technique, she made a discreet observation of her surroundings. SoroSuub airspeeder; fairly new, probably property of the sith cultists. Wait, no…Adriaan had a sudden flashback of being thrown into the passenger seat of a four-seat speeder and watching semiconsciously as her captors threw the Ugnaught pilot overboard. She shuddered as she recalled the driver's unearthly shriek as he plunged to his doom.

Anyway, back to observation. Four-passenger speeder; illegally procured. Woman sith in pilot seat, man in the back row. Adriaan was sitting next to him. Even more wonderful; Adriaan had no doubt that if she dared to twitch her little finger, the cultist would be on her in a microsecond. The thing to do was to make him distracted enough so that she could make her escape via jumping out the airspeeder ––– a prospect that was hardly appealing in the least, but again, it was better than hanging around with these dark side freaks.

Adriaan squeezed her eyes shut, summoning all her mental strength to call upon the Force. It would take a powerful mind-trick indeed to control the thoughts of another Force-sensitive, and though her head was still pounding from the hit she had taken, Adriaan was determined to try.

_Oh my gosh, look behind you. They've mounted an E-web __onto the hood. They're preparing to shoot…_

"You moron, take evasive action! They're setting up an E-web back there!" the man shrieked.

"I _am _taking evasive action!"

_This woman is a fool. A Hutt could pilot better than she could. She's no good to you at all. She's better off dead. _

He reached over the pilot seat and attempted to take control of the joystick, but the woman cultist grimly held on, wrenching it out of his grasp. He roared and began to climb over the passenger seat in an attempt to throw her out of the vehicle.

This was the chance Adriaan had been waiting for. Her eyes snapped open and she lunged forward, Force-pulling the two lightsabers clipped to the man's belt toward her. The two red blades activated and cut through both stun cuffs simultaneously. Jamming both sabers in her belt, Adriaan push-kicked the airspeeder door open and leaped out.

"Hey! You _shutta, _you're letting the fierfeked Jedi getting away!" the woman yelled.

Adriaan fell through the sky lanes of Kuat City for the second time in fifteen minutes, and this time, she was sure that she was going to end up splattered on some speeder bus' windshield.

_But Wolf and Kan were right behind us…_

Yes, Wolf and her Padawan were near; she could sense them in the Force as clearly as if she were looking at them face-to-face.

_ I hope you saw me jump out of the speeder, guys. Please, boys, please see me falling towards certain death…_

_ Vvvvrrrrooooooooommmmm!!!_

A spectacular streak of purple and gold momentarily flashed across her view of the sky lanes she was swiftly passing in her descent. She dared to twist herself around so that she was facing Kuat City's duracrete floor, and whooped when she saw a purple and yellow speeder ––– carrying two humans with dark hair ––– dip beneath her. The pilot ––– who, Adriaan noted, wasn't wearing a shirt because he hadn't had the time to get decently dressed ––– was controlling the speeder with his knees as he glanced up and reached his arms toward her.

"Grab on!" Wolf yelled, even though Adriaan still had a good ten meters to go before she was even within reach of him. But she would soon correct that; using the Force, she took control of her fall, manipulating herself through the space so that she landed neatly in the seat behind Kan.

"I'm in; step on it!" Adriaan shouted to Wolf as the red speeder dipped three lanes below. "They're trying to escape!"

"Don't tell him to step on it!" Kan shrieked when the speeder began to shake violently as Wolf pressed harder on the gas pedal. "He's already going two hundred and some klicks above the speed limit!"

"I've done worse," Adriaan said through clenched teeth, feeling as if her skin was being pulled off her face by the wind that whipped past.

"Varactyl to Wolf, what's your status?" Kay asked.

"You mean, 'Varactyl to Wolf, sitrep'" Adriaan corrected.

"I see that you've got the Ambassador back in one piece," Kay remarked. "Objective completed, then?"

"Negative. Tailing kidnappers," Adriaan replied.

"Oh, good, you've been keeping track of them. Send us their approximate location and we'll try to come around and cut them off for you."

"They're still in the residential zone; moving closer to the warehouse district…" Just then Adriaan noticed that Wolf had at least geared up with his gauntlet attachment. Apparently, gearing up with his blaster and his gauntlet were more important than putting on a shirt. "Wolf, can you transmit the GPS coordinates from your wrist attachment?"

"Ma'am, I am trying to navigate in extremely heavy traffic while tracking a common red airspeeder; I hardly think I should be the one guiding the Padawan Pack through an orbital city…"

"Understood. Sorry, Wolf. Varactyl, it's oh oh two, oh two five, oh one seven," Adriaan said, briefly consulting Wolf's wrist GPS. "Repeat: oh oh two, oh two five, oh one seven."

"Got it. We'll see what navigation routes Nano can map out for us…"

"I wish I had my helmet on right now," Cor complained. "I miss my heads-up display."

"So do I," Wolf muttered, rubbing his eyes. "Why the brix do people here paint all their airspeeders bright red? It's giving me a migraine."

"Want me to take over?" Adriaan asked, flinching as they narrowly skirted a gigantic airbus flying in the wrong lane.

"No, I'm okay. I think they're slowing down…I'm following the right speeder, correct? The one that's cutting across to the next lane…"

"I see it. Yes, that's the one."

"Why are they flying so close to that air taxi?" Kan asked.

Adriaan squinted. "They're trying to throw us off their tail by splitting up." She suddenly winced as if she had just been stabbed.

"What?" Kan asked.

"See that little black dot that just fell out?"

"Yeah…"

"They just threw the pilot out of his own taxi."

The Padawan swallowed perceptibly. "Oh."

The bead communicator crackled in her ear. "Varactyl to Ambassador, we have naked eye contact with you."

"Where are you?"

"The group of swoops, two lanes docked on your crown."

Adriaan looked up and located the swoops in nanoseconds. Kay Lee ––– still in the white undertunic that she slept in, and her hair disheveled from sleep ––– waved at her. "I see you," ell Talaan said, waving back.

"What's going on…I mean, Sitrep, soldier!"

"That's _Ambassador _to you, my young handmaiden. The targets are splitting up. They don't know there's more than one speeder tailing them. Can you keep tabs on the red speeder while we go after the taxi?"

"Affirmative. Capture or kill?"

"Capture, preferably; dead men tell no tales. We'll want to interrogate them, but keep in mind that they're better dead than escaped, so we can't let them get away, either."

"There's also a bigger problem; dead or captured, their organization is going to miss them eventually," Ember pointed out.

"That could be an issue. We'll have to think about that later, though; they're moving."

"Understood. Varactyl out."

"Okay, Wolf, I don't want you to change lanes; pretend to follow the air taxi," Adriaan instructed next.

"What do you have in mind, ma'am?"

"Well, for one thing, that lane is stopped; we'll catch up to him faster if we stay in this lane."

"But that lane isn't stopped at all. It's moving along quite fast, actually…"

Just then an air traffic control droid zoomed overhead, signaling for their lane to stop.

"Fierfek," Kan muttered. "Just when we seemed to be getting someplace, a traffic droid pulls a red signal."

"I'm beginning to detest that color," Wolf muttered. "Too many red speeders…"

Adriaan only smiled. To her, the traffic control robot was a blessing. It was just the thing she needed to stop those cultists. Summoning the Force, she directed it at the droid.

_ This lane needs to keep moving. That third lane below us needs to have a red signal; they've gotten a go for quite some time now._

"That was the shortest red light I've ever seen," Kan said as the droid suddenly changed its signal back to "go" "We weren't even stopped for two seconds. Maybe that droid is malfunctioning."

Wolf was watching the droid as it hovered in midair for a moment, then dipped three lanes down, switching its control light to red as it did so. The clone looked at Adriaan and grinned. "I don't think so," he answered.

"Hey! That droid just stopped that entire lane!" Kan crowed. "_Now _we're gaining on them!"

"Told you," Adriaan replied.

"I hope that signal will stay on longer than ours did," Wolf said, glancing sidelong at the Jedi.

"It'll stay on for as long as we need it," Adriaan answered.

"Okay, so what's the plan now?" Kan asked.

"We keep moving in this lane till we're nearly on top of him, then we take the next exit, dive down, jump onto the speeder, and capture the cultist."

"I foresee one small problem with that, ma'am," Wolf said. "People in the other speeders will notice three people dropping into a speeder to attack the occupants, and their first reaction will be to alert the cops, who will try to arrest us for assault."

"No one who sees us will remember anything that has transpired tonight."

Kan swallowed. "That sounds ominous…"

"No, I'm not going to kill anyone, Padawan. I'll just use a Force Cloak; they won't see me at all. I promise. Okay, Wolf, get ready. We're nearly on top of him."

Wolf took the junction, easing their vehicle out of the traffic lane. "On five, brace yourselves," Wolf said. "One, two, three!"

Kan and Adriaan were thrown hard against their seats as the speeder unexpectedly tilted at a ninety degree angle and plunged downward, hurtling through the sky at about two hundred and thirty-four meters per second.

"You said…you'd go…on FIVE!" Kan screamed, the skin on his cheeks rippling against his face.

"I had an adrenaline rush and didn't want to waste it on those extra two seconds; sorry."

"Redneck," the Padawan muttered. Adriaan just grinned.

They were swiftly approaching the stationary red speeder; in fact, they were falling so quickly that even Adriaan was afraid Wolf wouldn't be able to pull up in time and avoid a collision.

"Slow down! This isn't a kamikaze mission!" Kan shrieked. The cultist, hearing the noise of the approaching speeder, suddenly glanced up.

"He sees us! He's going to take off!" Wolf shouted.

"Just keep flying!" Adriaan yelled, unstrapping her seatbelt and climbing out onto the hull of the airspeeder. "Angle the descent so that you just barely graze him; avoid a headlong collision."

"Whatever you're doing ma'am, I hope it'll work!"

The red speeder started to pull out of the lane. "Master…"

"Later, Kan." Then Adriaan let go of the speeder and leaped out into the air. At the same time, the red speeder lifted up, climbing toward the sky lanes above, and the Jedi and the cultist collided the next moment.

"Master!" Kan screamed, but Wolf was still diving downward at a complete vertical angle, and they flashed past the scene before Kan could see if Adriaan had survived the crash. "Stop diving! Stop! She's hit him! She's gotten hit by the speeder!"

"She's fine," Wolf replied apathetically. "She told us to stay in the speeder and to keep going down…"

"That's an order, trooper," Kan hissed. The clone hesitated for a moment, wavering between the decision of following a rather hurried and vague order from a Jedi General, or a very specific one from a Jedi Padawan.

Apparently, the more recent command overrode Adriaan's incomplete order. Wolf pulled up sharply and put the engines on idle, staring up at the speeder that they had left a couple hundred meters above them.

"They're fighting," The soldier remarked, observing how the vehicle was rolling and diving erratically in the air as Adriaan and the cultist fought for the controls. Kan winced as the speeder rammed itself hard against a building and screeched across the durasteel surface.

"The ship is falling apart," he said. "They're tearing up the controls!"

"Death spiral," Wolf said in a laodicean tone as the speeder slowly sank, both engines on fire as it spun dramatically toward the ground.

Kan closed his eyes, not daring to see what would happen next. "Force protect her, there's no way she can survive that fall…"

"Commander, look down," Wolf said quietly.

Kan looked down and was surprised to see that the trooper had parked the speeder in a docking space at the bottom of Kuat City. They were at ground level.

_So Wolf wasn't obeying my command, after all. He just had to stop diving because we were about to crash at the bottom…_Kan suddenly felt very stupid. Kuat City wasn't exactly Coruscant; it wasn't a city billions of kilometers high, with level upon level upon level, until the skyscrapers scraped so close to the upper atmosphere the Coruscant crust was only a myth and a rumor, which few had seen and which few wanted to live on, because the city towers prevented sunlight from ever reaching the lower levels of the city planet. Kuat City wasn't even a tenth of the planetary capital of the Republic; the speeder had gone from a middle level to the ground in a matter of minutes. Such a feat would have taken several days on Coruscant.

_BLAM!_

The Padawan looked up to see a hailstorm of red-painted pieces of airspeeder fragments, illuminated by orange flames, rain down from the place where the craft had been just a few seconds ago. Kan gasped in air permeated with the gagging odor of burning metal and speeder fuel as his eyes searched the sky ––– now illuminated with the burning pieces of speeder ––– for something, anything that looked like the remains of his Master.

"Ah, there they are," Wolf said, pointing toward a flailing blob hurtling downward along with the flaming shrapnel.

"She made it!" Kan whooped, watching the two bodies separate in midair as Adriaan planted a flying kick on the armored man's head.

"Of course she did," Wolf said.

The man's jetpack seemed to be malfunctioning, for the thrusters were coughing out black smoke, and showed no sign of slowing or stopping the cultist's descent.

"Forty-five seconds to come up with a plan on what to do when they land," Wolf said after a brief calculation.

Kan looked around. They had landed in the warehouse section of the city. At normal hours of the day, Kan supposed that this area would be incredibly crowded and busy, but at night, the warehouses were closed. Dimly lit glowlamps that were stationed at periodic intervals along the deserted streets gave off only a feeble, weak light. Even if anyone else was in the district at this hour, no one would notice two Jedi and a soldier apprehending a terrorist.

"This would never have worked on Coruscant," Wolf said.

For once, Kan understood what the clone meant. Coruscant was always awake and bustling with activity, even in the dead hours of the night, when beings should be sleeping. Perhaps the commercial area in Kuat was still wide awake, but down in the warehouse district, everything was dead quiet. Wolf was right; it was the perfect time and place to capture a sith cultist.

"Where are they going to land, do you think?" Kan asked.

Wolf frowned, his gaze sweeping the area. "Fifteen meters on your six," he answered.

Kan turned around. "Just short of that airspeeder maintenance garage, correct?"

"Correct."

Kan took a step forward, estimating how tall the garage was and gauging the height he would have to jump to reach the roof. Wolf, guessing the Padawan's intention, nodded in silent approval of the unspoken plan as he withdrew his cable launcher. "Ready when you are, Commander."

"On count of three, start climbing," Kan said. "One, two, three…" The soldier shot his cable launcher up and waited for it to catch, tugging on the cable to see if it would hold. The clone's legs bent to make the jump, but Kan didn't move, and that stopped Wolf in his tracks.

"Something wrong, Commander?"

"Four, five, six, seven…"

"Sir…"

"Eight, nine, go go go." Kan gathered the Force in and made the leap, catching Wolf on the jump. He landed on the roof and grinned upon hearing the muttered Huttese curses coming from below. The clone trooper joined him a short time later.

"I didn't get that adrenaline rush until nine," Kan said in a mock-apologetic tone.

"Jerk…I mean, _sir_," Wolf said with a wry grin.

The Padawan and the soldier lay flat on the roof as the cultist and the Jedi plummeted ever closer to the landing site. They were so close now that Kan could see the look of terror on Adriaan's soot-blackened face. The expression on her face was quite comical ––– so comical, in fact, that Kan really had to fight the urge to laugh and therefore reveal his and Wolf's position.

"Five till touchdown," Wolf muttered. "Half meter short of the landing site; sorry, sir, for the miscalculation."

Kan felt like thrashing some sense into the clone, but he curbed the impulse in time. One thing he didn't like about the clones was that, like their cloners, they were obsessed with performing everything absolutely perfectly. There was no room for a mistake as miniscule as a calculation off by half a meter, in their opinion. Smacking Wolf wouldn't correct his attitude at all; the clone would only think that Kan was punishing him for the miscalculation.

Adriaan, plunging for the ground headfirst, righted herself at the last minute by a triple flip, landing in a crouching position on the duracrete and transferring the momentum of the impact into a roll, to minimize the shock radiating up through her knees. The cultist, who wasn't as skilled as the Jedi, flipped once and landed awkwardly on the pavement, collapsing to the ground as his knees buckled underneath him. The man lay still on the sidewalk, too stunned to move.

"Go go go!" Wolf shouted, drawing out his cable line and leaping off the building with Kan, using his cable launcher to control his descent. The two of them landed neatly around the fallen cultist, lightsaber and blaster drawn and at the ready. Adriaan stepped forward to complete the triangular barrier, lightsaber in hand.

"Nice timing," she said.

"You did just fine, ma'am," Wolf said. He took a few steps toward their target. "Commander, cover me while I disarm him."

"No need," Adriaan said, stiffening as the man groaned. He was recovering fast. "I already took his lightsaber." She indicated the three weapons clipped to her belt. "Looks like I'm taking after Grievous and starting a lightsaber collection of my own."

The attacker moaned and began to struggle to his feet, but Adriaan roughly shoved his face back into the pavement with a lightning-quick Force push. She moved forward and took a knee beside the cultist. "That's right, son, you just lay still now. I'm going to ask you a few questions, and if you behave, I won't hand you over to my cannibal friends over here," she said, indicating Wolf and Kan. The man looked up, and Wolf, taking cue, gave the man an intimidating grin which exposed his perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth. The cultist put his face back down immediately.

"Okay, now that we understand each other, let's have a little talk, shall we?" Adriaan asked. The man didn't move or speak, so she reached out and grabbed his helmet, popping the seal and pulling it off his head, revealing a young male human with nondescript brown hair and dark eyes. That seemed to put Adriaan off for a second; she hadn't expected her attacker to be so young. He couldn't be much older than her. However, any pity she might have had for him evaporated after she recalled what he had done to the pilots, and what he had intended to do to her.

"Are you going to cooperate or am I going to have to use a mind-trick on you to make you talk?" Adriaan asked. She bent down and got in the man's face. "Hell-l-l-l-l-o-h, I know you understand Basic. Who are you working for? Do you know who we are?"

The boy, his dark eyes smoldering with hatred, spat in her face. Adriaan, her expression growing black as she wiped the spittle out of her eyes, grabbed the boy by the hair and pulled him up so that they were eye level. "Don't be stupid by wasting my time, son," she hissed, "because I have an unbelievably short temper for one of my occupation. Tell me now or I'm going to have to break it out of you: who are you working for, and why were you attacking us?"

The man said nothing. He only continued to stare ahead; not directly at her, but over her shoulder, as if he could see someone behind her. He was more afraid of his employer than he was of her. Adriaan, realizing this, wondered if the boy would respond to a more tangible threat. Reaching into her belt, she pulled out her lightsaber and held it in front of his face. "See this? You surely know what this thing is capable of, correct? A universal cutting tool; an instant killer." She put the projecting end of the hilt up to his neck. "I am perpetually amazed at how simple and how easily these things can be turned on. Why, all it requires is the touch of a button ––– how easy, how horribly wonderful it would be to 'accidentally' hit the button and watch the blade run through your…"

The boy lost his defiant stance and began to tremble with genuine fear. "Okay, I'll tell you!" he gasped.

Adriaan kept the hilt pressed against his flesh, just in case. "I'm glad we agree. Who are you working for?"

The boy hesitated. The Jedi shoved the lightsaber closer. "Sorry! I swore not to tell anyone!"

"Then we have nothing more to discuss…" Adriaan let her finger drop down to the button that would activate the lightsaber.

"I have datapad! You can take it from me! I won't break my vow then!"

Adriaan stopped driving the hilt into his flesh. "Wolf, search him."

"No, your friend will not find it on me; it's hidden too well. I'll get it for you." Adriaan hesitated for a fraction of a second, then loosened her hold on one of his arms. The captive, still trembling, jammed his fingers into his boot.

"Gen…Ambassador…"

"Steady on, Wolf," Adriaan said. She couldn't sense any deception; she felt the man was telling her the truth.

It wasn't until she saw the flash of a red tablet just microseconds before the man popped it into his mouth that she realized that something had gone wrong in her calculations. _What the heck is going on? I should have sensed this…_

"Adriaan! Get that thing out of his mouth! Spit it out, you!" The fazed Jedi was suddenly shoved out of the way by the clone as he tackled the cultist, shoving the prisoner's face into the ground. To the Knight's further consternation, the clone, keeping his captive's face pushed to the duracrete, rammed his hand down the man's throat.

"What are you doing?!" Adriaan yelled, too shocked to take notice that the soldier had called her by her first name. "Wolf, stop it, you're killing him!"

"I'm saving him, you ––– _ori'vod!_ He's taken a suicide pill! Yow!" Wolf yelped and hastily withdrew his fist from the man's mouth as the cultist bit down and broke through the flesh of his hand. The clone's fist automatically jerked up to his mouth as his arm became saturated with the mixture of blood and saliva, but then remembered where his hand had just been and swiftly put it back down. Instead of sucking the blood from his wound, he struck the cultist across the face, leaving a red stain across the man's cheeks. "Two can play at this game, _schutta ––– _you have two seconds to spit that out before I start abusing you."

"_Wolf_." That was Kan; he dropped to one knee and stared in appalled disapproval at the clone. "Since when did we resort to the base interrogation methods of the Separatists? We're the good guys; we don't abuse prisoners."

The man started to cough, and Wolf hauled him up so that their faces were just centimeters from each other. "Spit. It. Out," he said, punching each word into the air, "or I'll force you to throw it up."

The cultist suddenly laughed, spraying pinkish-red foam all over Wolf's face. The clone didn't flinch. "Too late. They gave me a sithspit pill; one of the most deadliest poisons in the galaxy. Takes approximately thirty seconds upon swallowing to kill."

"Thirty seconds is way more than enough time to get you to talk," Wolf hissed.

The man laughed again, but was suddenly taken over by a fit of coughing. "You've already wasted fifteen," he countered.

"Then don't waste the last fifteen seconds of your life in darkness," Kan said, moving forward so that he was in the dying man's sightline. "Repent; turn back to the light, or your soul will go down into Chaos."

The cultist wasn't listening. His gaze darted toward Adriaan, who was staring at the ground, disbelieving what was transpiring before her eyes. She hadn't sensed his deception; the Force had failed to warn her of this. Never before had this happened to her.

_Am I losing my connection to the Force? Am I that out of tune?_

"He's going after you, little Ree," the man ––– whose name was Iratus, Adriaan recalled ––– said. Adriaan started, her eyes swiveling up to meet the cultist's gaze. The sith laughed, but his laugh was lifeless and cold-sounding. There was no happiness in it. "Yes, he told me your name! He knows everything!"

The Jedi stared. "Who?" she asked in a whisper.

"You should know," he rasped. "He has a message for you, in case you had a lapse of memory and forgot who he is. _The Master's fate is forever tied to his pupil's. The hawk that strikes like lightning has returned to finish the training of his fledging._"

_The Master's fate is forever tied to his pupil's…_

_ The fledgling and the hawk…_

"I'm not his pupil!" Adriaan shouted. She grabbed the man by the shoulders and hauled him upward. "Tell me where he is! Where is Haak hiding?"

"Too late!" Iratus ––– _Lord _Iratus ––– cackled. Suddenly his smile contorted into a grimace of agony, and he fell to the ground and began to writhe and squirm, foaming at the mouth and shrieking like some inhuman creature.

"Help him, Master!" Kan yelled, stepping back in fear as Iratus began to crawl toward Adriaan, groaning piteously.

"It's burning! Douse the fire, quick! It's eating at my insides!" the dark side adept shrieked, clawing at her knees. "He said it would be painless! I don't want to be burned alive! Put it out! Put it out!"

"Thus is the reward given to those who serve Haak," Adriaan said darkly.

"Please! I don't want to die this way! Kill me! Please! Strike me down! You know you want to!" The boy was whimpering now, clutching at his stomach as his eyes rolled back into his head.

Adriaan put her hand to her lightsaber, but she made no move to activate it. Her arm began to shake, and her gaze darkened as she ensued in a bitter struggle with her conscience.

"_Kill this worm writhing at your feet! Kill him!"_

_ No…I can't. It's not…it's not the Jedi way…_

_ "It's not the Jedi way to bestow mercy upon a dying man?"_

_ I…I don't know…_

_ "Just kill him, Adriaan. He's not going to live much longer anyway. If you kill him now, you won't have the memory of a prolonged, agonizing death on your conscience. Let him die in peace; let him die quickly. It's the _merciful _thing to do, Adriaan…"_

The sith stopped screaming. For a moment, Adriaan thought it was because he had died, but he hadn't. He rose to his feet, as if he had suddenly conquered the poison, and for a while the Jedi actually believed that he had. But he hadn't; he had simply found some superhuman strength within him to make one more effort, one more effort to…

"Long live the Dark Lord of the Sith!" the man shrieked, and then he collapsed to the ground and died instantly.


	6. Chapter 5: The Crippled Jedi

**_Su'cuy! _For those who have been worrying about Jordin, here's an update on her status! As usual, I am extremely grateful for any feedback readers provide. Please enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: _Star Wars _is not mine, nor do I take the credit for developing the Mandalorian language and culture. **

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Chapter 5

_"After meeting you, it made me realize that it didn't matter whether you were created to kill, or that you were going to die of old age in about fifty years, or that you shared the same face as millions of other men. Each of you has a soul, a personality that makes you stand out as an individual. You're flesh and blood, just like me. I owe you boys one for helping me to see the soul inside each one of you. I don't care that you were created primarily for war; I'm glad that you exist." – _Adriaan ell Talaan, to the ELF Commandos

✶ Jedi Corps Infirmary, Coruscant, 394 days ABG✶

Rez was just a tiny bit nervous upon entering the Jedi Temple. He wasn't apprehensive because it was his first visit, for while they had been waiting for General ell Talaan to finish business with the Jedi Council, Shadow Squad had had the privilege of taking a few combat classes with some Jedi pupils. But that had been over a year ago, and Rez was afraid to find that the Temple had changed beyond recognition. Therefore, he was astounded to find the interior of the Jedi home completely unchanged. It was as if he had just taken the combat classes a day before; the long, three hundred and sixty some days of hard fighting seemed to fall away as soon as he stepped into the hushed, meditative halls of the Jedi Temple.

He actually wasn't quite sure if he liked the peaceful atmosphere. He had suspected it would be hard making the transition from the battlefield to a non-war zone, and he knew now that his initial misgivings had been correct. Normally, he welcomed the moments where he could ease off the adrenaline, but he found that he wasn't liking it so much when his squad wasn't with him to enjoy it.

_They're out there somewhere; sweaty, exhausted, definitely hungry, probably lost, and no doubt tense and depressed without my superior charm and wit to lighten their moods. Poor Cor; Ember said he's gotten to be a real krayt dragon, now that I'm not around to keep him peppy. Good to know I'm valued as something more than just a medical escort. _

General ell Talaan hadn't been back home for quite some time, either, and Rez found that he didn't blame her; it was too quiet. Too calm. It didn't feel right being here, with full knowledge of thousands of troops like him out in the galaxy, fighting in a living hell, putting their lives on the line, exhausted, pained, with little hope of peace.

_I should just go break out a jukebox, crank it up to full volume, and start dancing to some really obnoxious and highly inappropriate glimmik music, _Rez thought, grinning as he imagined the shocked reaction he might get. _I wonder how many Jedi would join me if I did that. I bet many would; some of these Jedi are just the feistiest people I've ever met. Like the Wicked Club, and Adriaan, Kay, Jordin…_

The quiet was interrupting by the murmuring and giggling of high, sweet-sounding little voices. Rez turned toward the sound and observed the approach of a group of about twenty Jedi garbed in clothing of varying colors, fabric, and styles. They were of differing heights and races, but it was obvious by their voices and by the youthfulness of their faces and attitudes that they were children, approximately Rez's chronological age.

_If I was a normal human, I would look like _that? The clone suddenly felt distressed, and for substantial reason. They looked so young, so helpless, so innocent…why, some of them still had some baby fat left on them. Rez wasn't even quite sure if he had ever had an ounce of fat on his own body; the Kaminoan cloners were obsessed with refinement, and they were a naturally thin species, so any extra flesh on a lifeform was considered an imperfection to them.

"Hey! Look, Hana, a visitor!" a young Cathar Jedi shouted, pointing in Rez's direction.

"Visitor!" the other younglings shouted, crowding around Rez, who was still resolutely bearing Jordin in his arms. "Hello, sir! What brings you here? Why are you carrying that girl? Is she sleeping? Is she ill? Do you think we are waking her up? Who are you? Why are you wearing armor?"

"Hey, I know who that guy is! He's a Republic soldier!" the Cathar child said, looking very pleased that he had recognized Rez for what he was.

"Republic soldier! Cool!" the kids pressed even closer around him, thunking his armor plates with their knuckles and giggling at the hollow sound it made. "Have you fought in many battles? How many droids have you killed?"

"Master Drallig said the Republic soldiers are clone troopers," the Cathar Jedi said significantly. "That means that he looks and acts just like all the other soldiers. All clones are obedient to all Jedi."

"Clone? Do you have a name, or do you share a name with all the other clones?"

"Do you like being a clone?"

"What's it like being a clone?"

"Why are you standing so stiffly?"

"Are you supposed to follow our orders if we start bossing you around?"

"Are you a Sergeant? Master Drallig said all clones who have green markings on their armor are called Sergeants."

"Have you ever killed anyone? Like, besides droids?"

"Why are you here? Shouldn't you be out fighting with your legion?"

"Did you betray your squad?"

"Why aren't you answering our questions? Isn't that, like, disobeying?"

"Are you a malfunctioning clone?"

"Is that why you're here? So your obedience gene can get fixed?"

The questions buzzed around him like annoying Geonosian drones, and Rez wished he could deal with those inquiries as he had dealt with the Geo bugs; by taking his rifle and blasting them out of the air, splattering green, gooey insect guts all over Ember's T-visor. But he couldn't, and that disquieting fact made those queries much more upsetting to him than any Geonosian, for they were asking personal questions that were unknowingly hurtful to him.

_Do you _like _being a clone? Do you have your own name, or do you share a name with all your clone brothers? You're a clone; that means you obey all our commands, even the stupid ones. You're just an organic droid. Have you ever killed anyone, like besides droids? Are you here because your obedience gene got turned off? Are you here because you betrayed your squad?_

The questions hurt, but the reason they were distressing was because Rez knew, deep down in his heart, the children were right to ask. What _was _he doing here, anyway? He shouldn't be here; he should be out with his squad, blasting droids. He didn't belong here at all.

"I am CT-1374 of Ade Verda Brigade, and this is Jordin Skraps, Jedi Apprentice of Jedi General Adriaan ell Talaan," Rez said, raising his voice over the tumult. "Please, sirs, please listen to me! I need to get Apprentice Skraps to a medical facility pronto!"

The children fell silent. "Did you hear that, he called all of us 'sir'!" the Cathar said excitedly. "Are you supposed to call everyone 'sir', See-Tee…uh, one two seven…I'm sorry, what was your name again?"

"CT-1374, and I'm in rather a hurry, so could one of you please direct me to the Temple infir –––"

"No, soldier, your _name, _if you please. I'm not that good with numbers, or so Master Drallig tells me," the boy said with a grin. He gave a short bow. "I am Padawan Dabo Nai of the Mynock Clan, and these are my compeers ––– Hana Dul, Melian Nar, Arafin Tirel, Lora Calien…"

"Sir, I really must apologize for the interruption, but Apprentice Skraps has very severe TBI, which has only been treated by field drugs, an emergency hyperventilation procedure, and a saline drip. She had her ICP levels brought down to normal, but she still needs bacta submersion and full life support for an indefinite period…" Rez stopped when he saw the blank looks on the Jedi Apprentices' faces. _Shavit, I forgot they're only kids…_ "…In other words, I would greatly appreciate it if someone directed me to your Temple Infirmary, where, I'm told, the Jedi Circle of Healers has brought about many amazing recoveries."

Dabo Nai stubbornly folded his arms across his chest. "Your name, first."

"Uh…Rez," the clone said, and suddenly felt extremely awkward. As far as he could recall, Adriaan was the only non-clone who had ever asked for his "in-squad" name; all the others had been content to address him by his number, or even as just "trooper" or "clone"

"Okay," Dabo said, satisfied. "We'll take you there."

"No," a quiet human boy with a solemn face said suddenly. "You know how annoyed Master Drallig gets when we're all late to class. Only one of us should show Rez where the infirmary is; the rest of you can cover that person until he or she gets back. Hopefully you'll keep Master Drallig busy enough so that he won't notice the absence of one student."

"Good idea, Apprentice Jukassa," the girl identified as Arafin Tirel said. She was a human subspecies with pointed ears and gray eyes, with her long golden hair braided and coiled around her head. "Okay, which one of us will go show Rez the way?"

The dark-haired, grave-faced boy spoke up. "I'll show him. The rest of you go on."

Dabo looked at the human dubiously. "Are you sure, Zett? After all, 'The Troll' tends to pick on you because you are his new Apprentice, ever since your old Master, Mierme Unill, died…"

"The infirmary isn't far from here; I'll catch up to you guys," Zett interrupted. "Besides, I knew Jordin Skraps; she's a good friend of mine, though I haven't seen her for quite some time now." He turned to the soldier. "Come, Rez, I'll show you the way. It isn't far." The young boy started off, and Rez, disbelieving his good luck, hurried after the sage-like child, who seemed much different from his chattery, effervescent counterparts. Unlike the others, he hadn't, and didn't, pester Rez with any strange and painful questions. In fact, he hardly spoke at all. He simply directed the clone quickly and efficiently through the intricate hallways that the soldier would have found himself hopelessly lost in…if he hadn't the aid of his HUD, that is.

Finally, Zett paused in front of a set of double doors that had the star-shaped logo of the Jedi infirmary ––– along with the Aurebesh letters _Mern _and _Cresh, _for "Medical Corps" ––– pasted over the door. The Padawan turned toward the clone. "Well, this is where we part, Rez. Tell the medics to inform me when Jordin awakens; I'd like to talk to her again, for we haven't seen each other in a year. I want to know how her Apprenticeship with Master ell Talaan is going."

"Thank you, Apprentice Jukassa, sir. I will make sure you are notified when she wakes up," Rez said, adding to himself, IF _she wakes up. _"Studies have shown that visitors have a positive impact on the rate of recovery in patients."

Instead of making a snide quip about how geeky Rez was ––– as Kan would have done, had he been there ––– Zett Jukassa nodded. "Yes, I know. Thank you, Rez, for taking such good care of her. Those who show such compassion for my friends have found a loyal friend in me."

"Thank you, sir," Rez said.

Then, for the first time, the Padawan smiled. "Just call me Zett, for as friends, we should skip the formalities and call each other by our first names, do you not agree?"

"Of course…Zett."

The Padawan nodded, then took a small step forward and put his hand upon Jordin's brow. Rez opened his mouth to protest that Jordin had severe head trauma and probably shouldn't have her head touched, but he could see that the Padawan's hand was gentle, and that his eyes were closed, as if he was doing one of those Force things.

"Be strong, Jordin," he murmured. "Be strong, so that we may spend some time together before you go off to the battlefront again." Then the Padawan opened his eyes and met Rez's gaze. "Take care, Rez; I hope to see you again." He did another one of those quaint little Jedi bows, and Rez did a snappy salute in return.

"Likewise, Zett," Rez said. Then he put on his bravest face and stepped through the double doors of the infirmary.

Rez was expecting to walk into a broodingly silent, sterilized, distressingly white medical ward reminiscent of the training facilities on dreary, rainy Kamino; or perhaps a room similar to the GAR medical facilities, which were teeming with stressed out medical droids, walking wounded, and the groans and screams of injured beings. Instead, he was astonished to discover that the Jedi infirmary was far from either Kamino or the military hospitals. There were injured Jedi of all different species imaginable laying on the beds or hobbling around, yes, but the atmosphere was hushed and peaceful; not a quietness that seemed strained or forced, but a silence of the natural sort. It was simply quiet because, well…Rez didn't really know why. He supposed it must have been on account of the Force ––– after all, it tended to have a soothing effect on grieved lifeforms ––– for he was beginning to feel a bit more relaxed, too, and that was a welcome change from the constant misery of having super-high stress levels.

There was no sign of surgical instruments or droids; in fact, there were no droids at all, from what he could see. The staff was purely organic. The room seemed sizable ––– no doubt on account of the high ceiling made entirely of transparisteel panels, to let in sunlight ––– but it wasn't large enough to make Rez feel dwarfed. He wished he could take off his helmet to take a breath of air that wasn't filtered through his helmet ––– for according to his HUD, the oxygen was pure and fresh and free from toxins ––– but his arms were occupied with holding the comatose Padawan, so he just had to guess what the ward smelled like. Observing the pots of blossoming trees, vibrant flowers, and fresh green plants that added color and life to the space, it probably smelled more like a pleasingly fragrant garden than a medical center.

A Twi'lek woman, whose age Rez couldn't determine, was standing beside the bed of a Sullustan Padawan with a blaster injury to the chest. She was wearing white robes and didn't appear injured, so Rez took a step toward her, expecting her to be one of the medics. At his approach, she opened her rain-gray eyes and gazed at him with an expression that held not hostility, but only mild curiosity.

"It has been a long time since we have seen a clone trooper in our midst. Come, what is your business here, trooper, and what is your name?" she asked with a voice that was deep, quiet, yet somehow commanding.

Rez, his arms full of Jedi Padawan, still managed a salute. "CT-1374 Rez of Ade Verda Brigade, transferring comatose patient from the medical ward of the _Victory…"_

"That is Jordin Skraps; I'd know that red hair anywhere, though she has not been back to the Temple for some time now," the Jedi said, her gaze lighting upon the child nestled in his arms. She removed her hand from the Sullustan's forehead and stood, making a slight bow toward the clone. "She's part of that Padawan Clan Jedi Knight Adriaan ell Talaan is in charge of, correct? Adriaan ell Talaan must be your Jedi officer. Come, tell me what has happened to make talkative little Jordin rest in silent sleep."

"Correct, ma'am; ell Talaan is my CO, and Captain Skraps' Master," Rez confirmed. "She was attacked by a Dark Jedi during our mission to Umbria, and she has had severe head trauma for several days now. Symptoms include blown pupil and gradual lapse of awareness, coordination, and ability of speech. The treatment she received at the medical bay on our ship was only a shunt insertion to bring the ICP levels down, and a saline drip to stabilize her. The medic advised bacta submersion and full life support –––"

The Jedi held up her hand. "Such big words for a very anxious and hurried young man," she said. "There is no need for you to give me the medical terms for her status, for the Force tells all; I have sensed her distress in the Force. Besides, you misjudge me; I am no professional medic; I am only a simple healer bestowed with the special gift of saving life. With the Force, medicine mixes not."

Rez had been worried that that would be the case with the Jedi healers; that they weren't professional medics, that they simply relied on their apparently all-powerful Force to do the job for them. He didn't express his disappointment out loud, however; to do so would be rude. "Please, is there anything at all you can do to help her? I know there is small hope for a full recovery, but if you can at least grant her life support for an indefinite amount of time, then General ell Talaan would be most grateful to you…"

The Jedi placed her hand on the child's brow, closing her eyes contemplatively. "I sense much distress in her mind, but there is hope for her still. The Jordin I knew was a strong-spirited girl, and if she remains the same as she was before, then she's surely fighting against this deathless sleep. Yes, I can sense her conscious self in the dark tangle of her mind; she is fighting, struggling to get out. Yes, she will get better. I know it."

Rez wasn't quite sure if he understood what the Jedi Master mean about Jordin being trapped in her own brain, so the Twi'lek's words didn't cheer him at all. She didn't understand how bad the head trauma was; she hadn't been there when Jordin had gotten hit, and she wasn't a professional medic, so she couldn't read the signs. "Please, ma'am, do you have the means of keeping her on life support?"

"My dear boy, do not worry; this facility has been in operation long before my existence, and the Jedi Circle has seen many cases such as this. We will do our best to heal and rebuild her mind with the Force, and until she has fully recovered, she shall rest in the neurology ward, under the constant care of one of our most trusted and diligent healers."

The clone trooper should have felt relieved, but he had a nagging question that he needed to get off his chest. "I mean no disrespect, ma'am, but what if the Force won't heal her? What will happen to her then?"

The Jedi laughed, but it was not a scornful snicker. Rez could see that she understood his doubt. "Of course the Force will heal her, Rez," she said. "And if it doesn't, then she will be kept on life support for as long as she needs it. I swear on my honor as a Jedi, she will come to no harm in this facility."

The Jedi understood, all right. "Thank you, ma'am," he said gratefully. Now that the ordeal was over, he suddenly felt exhausted. The adrenaline that had been pumped to his system drained off, unused, leaving him with a wasted sensation.

"I am Vokara Che, chief healer of the Jedi Circle of Healers," the Jedi said, bowing again. One of the doors farther down the room opened, admitting two young Jedi in plain white robes, and Master Che waved them over. "This is Rinet Sirat and Eris Akura. They work in the neurology ward, and will administer to all of Jordin's needs during her stay here."

The other two Jedi bowed gravely in greeting. Rinet, a sturdy, teenage human boy, looked kindly at the clone trooper and held out his arms to take Jordin. Rez handed the Padawan over to the boy, staring in astonishment at Eris. A female Lurmen, Eris Akura had golden-toned fur and bright yellow eyes, but even though she was a species Rez had only observed by holos ––– and then he had only studied the Lurmen to learn where their most vulnerable areas were, so that if he had to face them in a battle, he would know where to aim for maximum stopping power ––– that was not what made him stare at her. She was short ––– even for one of her species ––– and couldn't have reached Rez's knee if she had stood at full height, but she faced him at eye level now because she was on a repulsorlift chair. He wondered if she used the repulsorlift chair on account of her height, but soon disregarded that notion as his gaze traveled down to her legs.

He suppressed a gasp. Even though he had never been in direct contact with a Lurmen before, he knew that their legs weren't supposed to look like Eris's. Twisted, wasted, and bone-thin, they hardly looked like they could support the Lurmen girl. Rez had never seen a disabled Jedi before, but he now knew that such beings existed.

Eris used a repulsorlift chair because she was a cripple.

The paraplegic met his gaze, her golden eyes solemn. She nodded silently in assent. Yes, Rez was right; she couldn't use her legs. The reason she was a healer instead of a warrior was not because of her skill, but because she was unfit for combat.

"We'll take it from here, sir," Rinet said, hefting Jordin as if she weighed little more than a feather. Distressed, Rez couldn't help but notice that Rinet didn't have all his hair cut "high and tight" No; there was one lock left unshorn, which he had twisted into a long braid to hang over his right shoulder. The trooper's gaze automatically swerved back to Akura, and he took note that she had a braid, too.

"You're…Padawans?" he asked, trying to keep the disappointment from his voice. But Vokara Che, of course, sensed his dismay. He couldn't hide his feelings from these people; they were mind readers.

_"Better stay on guard, son; don't forget they can mind-trick you." _Rez thought in his best imitation of his Commander's voice.

"Don't worry, Rez; they may still be Padawan learners, but they are quite capable healers ––– two of our best, in fact," Vokara said reassuringly, but her words didn't inspirit Rez at all. In fact, it made him feel a great deal worse.

_If these two are her best healers, I wonder how horrible the other medics are…_

"Don't worry, trooper; we'll take good care of her," Rinet said as he followed Vokara and Eris out of the door. The clone watched them go, feeling suddenly forlorn as he realized that in the course of about a week, he had become rather attached to Jordin, even though she had hardly spoken since the Dark Jedi had wounded her, and now wasn't even aware of anything at all. His adrenaline levels had been on high for several days, and now that it was all over, and he didn't need the epinephrine, he felt very tired.

Eris, sensing his distress, paused at the door and turned. "You can visit her any time, Rez, as long as you do not disturb the other patients," she said, in a voice that was remarkably strong and robust. "Now, you go rest, soldier, for you must stay strong ––– strong for Jordin, strong for your squad's sake."

Her golden eyes gazed at him for another moment, and then she was gone. Rez stood in the middle of the room, staring after her. Had it just been his imagination, or had she said something else to him before she had left?

_A walk through Coruscant is lovely this time of the day._

What was he kidding? She had told him to go rest. Taking a walk through Coruscant was a preposterous suggestion. He had just arrived on Triple Zero after an extremely stressful and uneventful hyperspace flight; he was warp-lagged, depressed, lonely, and scared. Yes, he was scared, because he was alone on a strange planet without his squad to stick it out with him. Who wouldn't be frightened? A walk was a stupid idea, and yet, it was appealing at the same time. A walk through a city ––– a city he had only been to once before, and had never extensively explored ––– on a bright, sunny morning, with no commander to boss him around, no CO to give him a curfew, and a bag of credits in his pocket ––– courtesy of good old General ell Talaan ––– and a gazillion shops, restaurants, and bars at his fingertips.

As a soldier in the Grand Army for his entire life, he hadn't yet had the opportunity of hanging out in a cantina, conversing with normal civilians, meeting pretty young women, buying himself a couple of drinks, and things like that. He rarely even got food beyond what the GAR issued ––– the tasteless, dry, gray, totally unappetizing but completely filling and nutrient-charged ration cubes ––– and being an ultra-fit teenage boy that was growing twice as fast as was normal for his species, the prospect of food was always appealing to him.

Rez checked his chrono. 1200; lunchtime. His stomach growled. That decided it. Taking one last look around the infirmary, he turned on his heel and dashed through the doors, retracing his steps back to the front entrance of the Temple, disregarding the looks the passersby gave him at his rather unsoldierly and undignified exit. He didn't care. He pounded down the steps of the Temple and raced to the visitor landing platform, where he noticed with relief that the air taxi was still docked, just as he had ordered the pilot to do. Tossing a credit chip to the driver, he hurtled into the vehicle.

"Where to?" the pilot asked.

"Coco town, and make it fast," Rez said.

The pilot looked at him curiously. "Not to pry or anything, but why should I make it fast? What's the occasion?"

"Freedom, fun, and most importantly, food," Rez replied.


	7. Chapter 6: Reforged Friendship

**_Su'cuy! _Thank you to DragonRider2000 for reviewing _Invader! _Your comments mean a lot to me! As usual, I appreciate any feedback readers give to me. Please enjoy, and I hope some more of you review!**

**This chapter was a long time coming. I think it's finally time Adriaan and Darc straightened things out between them. Hope this chapter clears some things up!**

**Disclaimer: _Star Wars _was not created by me, nor was the Mandalorian culture and language. However, all original characters, planets, and creatures belong to me.**

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Chapter 6

_"Don't you see? You need your friends with you, not held at arm's length. In your quest to be self-reliant, have you decided to just cut your friends out of your life?" -- _Obi-Wan, to Satine Kryze, Duchess of Mandalore

✶ Kuat City Hotel, 0300, 405 days ABG✶

"Aw, sithspit," Kan said, and Adriaan couldn't agree more. Iratus had died without telling them anything; they had gained nothing from this expedition except bloody knuckles and a lost night of sleep. The only thing Adriaan was certain of now was this: Haak was here, and knew ––– or suspected ––– that she was here, too. The Jedi dearly wanted to know how he had figured it out.

_It's not that hard, Adriaan; he's known you for years. He can probably sense you a galaxy away. He's no doubt known you've been here ever since you landed._

_ "But why is he here in the first place? What is he trying to do on Kuat? What's up with him being the boss dark lord of the Disciples of Ragnos? Why did he attack me tonight?"_

_ He knows you so well, Adriaan. He knew that you would be caught off guard._

Adriaan was alerted by the sound of her Padawan gagging. She looked up and observed how green in the face Kan had gotten.

"Kan, it's all right…"

"I'm going to…if you'll excuse me," Kan choked out, covering his mouth and taking off at a run toward one of the alleys. The sound of violent retching filled the normally quiet street.

"Throwing up," Wolf confirmed. "Common symptom of shock."

_Thanks, doctor. _Adriaan didn't blame her Padawan; she felt like throwing up herself. She looked at the dead body with contempt. She sneered at how Iratus' hands still clawed at the duracrete, how his glazed-over eyes were rolled back into his head, the way his tongue ––– bright blue from the sithspit poison ––– hung out of his mouth, the grotesque position of his body…

_Fierfek you, Iratus, for dying on me like that. I could've used the Intel stored inside your sith-addled brain. _A small part of Adriaan was shocked at herself, shocked at how indifferent her attitude was toward the dead sith. The pathetic way he had died had not moved her heart to pity; in fact, she scorned him. But was it wrong to scorn him? He had been evil, and even in his last moments of death he had been far from useful to her. He had been nothing but a hindrance; he had done nothing but attempt to scare her with empty threats, calling her the Hawk's "fledgling" and announcing the return of the "Master" to his "pupil"

The crescendoing sound of Kan's vomiting interrupted her thoughts. _Fierfek, what a waste of food, _she couldn't help but think.

"_Have you gone mad, Adriaan? Get a hold of yourself; it's not his fault he's sensitive to that kind of thing."_

_ I know. But I can't help it. There's something wrong with me, I know it, but I don't know how to fix it. Force grant me strength._

_ BOOM._

"Uh-oh," Wolf said, his head jerking upward at the sound of the far-off explosion. He tapped on his wrist comlink. "Ember, tell me that wasn't you. Ember? Cor? Anyone? Come in, already! What's your status?"

No matter how hard he tried, all he got in reply was a burst of static. Adriaan pushed down the sense of worry gnawing at her gut. "Could be our ears playing tricks on us, right? Maybe that wasn't an explosion?" she asked the clone hopefully.

"Nope, it was an explosion," Wolf said unhelpfully.

Kan returned from the dark alley, wiping his sleeve across his mouth. His eyes swerved back toward the dead body, and his face went green again. Wolf looked up and noticed the Padawan's expression.

"Need me to get you a bucket, sir?" he asked. Kan's face seemed to regain a little more color as his attention was directed toward the clone.

"No, I can keep it down," he said a little shakily.

"As if there were anything left inside you to keep down," Adriaan said brusquely. Kan glanced at her, surprised at her tone of voice. The Jedi, shocked at herself, hastily amended by adding, "I mean, you were back there for some time, Padawan, so even if you wanted to throw up, all you'd get now is dry heaves ––– which are far more unpleasant than really vomiting, believe me. You sure you're okay?"

"As long as I don't have to clean up this mess," Kan said with a weak attempt at a grin.

"Ah, so that's what all the drama was about," Adriaan said lightly. Then, rather impulsively, she clapped her Apprentice on the back. "You did fine, kid. Really. I wouldn't have made it without you. Either of you."

Her Apprentice looked up at her with ill-disguised astonishment. At first, Adriaan didn't understand why Kan was so surprised at the compliment, but as she thought about it, she didn't wonder.

_Shavit, I spend too much time criticizing that I never compliment the kid. I've got to remember to do that more often. For all of them._

"Wolf, this is Ember," the clone's comlink chirped. "Sorry I didn't answer earlier; the shock wave from the explosion scrambled all of our communications devices for a bit."

Shock Wave? Explosion? That didn't sound too good. "_Haar'chak, _Ember, what the kriff did you guys do?" Wolf asked irritably. "Are you trying to alert the whole city of our presence?"

"It's not any of our faults that that woman was a kamikaze," Kay broke in. "How were we supposed to prevent her driving her speeder right into the wall of a warehouse?"

Adriaan felt her heart sink. Now they had zero cultists left alive to interrogate, unless the man Wolf had slotted in the hotel room hadn't been killed, but the Jedi seriously doubted that. Not only had they lost a night of sleep, the whole city wouldn't ignore a demolished warehouse, and neither would the sith operation ignore the fact that three of their people hadn't returned from a mission. Their objective was compromised; their cover had been blown, unless the cultist operation was really, really dumb, and regarded the deaths of the three cultists as an accident. However, it wasn't likely for the organization to believe the deaths to be accidents; inherently, only Jedi were capable of killing sith. But maybe there was some hope; those cultists weren't exactly topnotch Force-adepts, and could've been killed by a much lesser being than a Jedi Knight.

"_No, there is no hope; remember who's in charge of this operation…"_

_ We don't know that yet._

_ "What further evidence do you need? The cultists have those tattoos, and who else could have come up with that message? The Master's fate is tied to his pupil's; the hawk has returned to finish the training of his fledgling…"_

"Shut up," Adriaan said aloud.

"No, really, I'm serious, Adriaan; the damage to the warehouse isn't too bad. This district is deserted at this time of night, and I think we could repair the building before anyone finds out. Really. I don't think anyone even saw the speeder crash; we had left the public lanes a long time ago in the pursuit," Kay said, misunderstanding Adriaan's outburst.

"Well, that's a relief," Adriaan said. "I'm just disappointed she killed herself before we could question her."

"At least we have her compatriot," Klamin said happily.

Wolf and Adriaan exchanged glances. "Ah, yes, we have Lord Iratus, but he isn't exactly, ah, intact," the trooper replied vaguely.

"What do you mean, he's not intact?" Ember demanded. "Don't tell me your cultist crashed into a building, too."

"First lesson when completing a covert ops assignment: don't trust a prisoner to hand over all his belongings. Search him and find the items yourself," Wolf said aside to Adriaan. "You should count yourself lucky that wasn't a bomb."

Adriaan was mortified. She hadn't ever considered that the man would've gotten anything else out except what he said he was getting: a datapad. It had never occurred to her that she had misread her senses; that the man was deceiving her, and was getting out a bomb. Wolf was right; _she_ was lucky that it had just been a suicide pill…she couldn't say the same for Iratus, though.

"Wolf, do you copy? What happened down there? Status report!"

"The good news is Lord Iratus didn't make a big mess when he died," Wolf said. "No going out in a blaze of glory for him. I guess swallowing a sithspit pill was a much more appealing way to perish."

"That's supposed to make me _happy?" _Ember retorted. "Wolf, your definition of good news is obviously not the same as mine."

"Wow, you're so optimistic, Ember."

"Yeah, well, that's what I get for hanging around the Wicked Club twenty-four seven," Ember muttered. "Their insane jolliness sort of rubs onto you after a bit."

It was nearly dawn when they finally cleaned up all the evidence of the fight from the area. It would have taken longer, but luckily Adriaan had eleven Padawans and twelve very strong soldiers to help her out. It was amazing how diverse the powers of the Force were: it could destroy as well as remake, kill as well as keep alive, daunt as well as encourage. It could render a whole building a pile of dust, or could repair a wall so well that there was absolutely no evidence that a speeder had just crashed headlong into it. It made Adriaan feel she was more of the Force's tool than its Master and practitioner. As she gazed upon the flawless, completed warehouse that had originally looked like it had been bombarded by enemy forces, it brought to her mind just how potent the metaphysical power she and all other Force-sensitives like her wielded. The very fact that they could contain and control such an energy was frankly quite staggering. Such thoughts always made Adriaan feel very small and insignificant, yet awed and honored at the same time. That she would have been chosen, out of the gazillions of beings in the Republic, to bear the gift of being able to harness such a force, seemed impossibly wonderful. It made her feel sorry for all the beings who didn't have the privilege of being able to sense the Force.

_But I don't feel sorry for the clones; I don't pity my boys. Look at them: loyal, pragmatic, intelligent, fit, charmingly naïve, irresistibly attractive…oh no, I'm not in love with any of them. I'm just stating the facts. They _are _handsome. Quite possibly the most attractive male humans I've ever seen, both outside and inside. They're faithful, truthful, compassionate, self-denying, wholesome…yes, I know they kill people on a daily basis, but they're fighting on the side of freedom and justice. They're fighting for people that will probably never be truly grateful for the sacrifices they've made to keep the Republic intact. _

_ I truly wish that once this war is over, they'll get full citizenship, homes, payment, time off from work, and a chance to meet some nice young ladies. They deserve that opportunity: to live their own lives, to get married to good women, to support their own families, to get away from all of this poodoo. _

When they got back to the hotel, Adriaan, ready to drop, wearily followed the girls into their room, only to find another mess to clean up. Sighing as her gaze took in the dead body and the broken window, Adriaan rapped her knuckles on the boys' room and called out, "Wolf! What are we going to do about the bod…the bag of groceries?"

"What?!" the clone shouted.

"You know, the one you left in the room."

"Oh…oh, yeah. Oops."

They had inconspicuously gotten rid of Lord Iratus' body by using a disruptor rifle on it. The Jedi hadn't particularly liked the idea of disposing of a body ––– even the body of a sith ––– in such a disrespectful manner, but unfortunately, they had had no other options available to them. They couldn't bury it ––– it was an orbital city, so the foundation was pure duracrete ––– and they couldn't cremate it because it would attract too much attention. So they had used a disruptor rifle to disintegrate the body, tearing it apart by molecule.

"Wolf, go take care of it," Adriaan heard Ember say.

Adriaan swallowed. She hadn't been there when Wolf had disintegrated Lord Iratus; she had been over by the warehouse, repairing the wall and removing the speeder wreckage ––– what had been left of it, anyway. She had had no desire to watch a body dissipate, let alone dissipate it herself. "No, it's okay; just give me the disruptor, and I'll do it," she heard herself saying.

There was a pause on the other side of the door. "You sure?" Wolf asked.

"You put away mine, I'll put away yours. Only fair."

"Well, all right. Lemme get it." She heard the muffled _clack _of weapons and kit being knocked together and thrown to the floor as Wolf rummaged through his pack. Someone mumbled something inaudible, and she heard a soft whack, followed by a startled yelp. Wolf had hit someone. "Fierfek, I can't open the door with you grunts looking like this. Brush up; look presentable, for kriffing sake."

"All right, all right," Cor murmured sleepily. "In a minute…"

"No. _Now._"

"But I'm tired," Darc complained. "Can't we just leave him until morning?"

"And stink up the whole place? No, sir, that wouldn't do. Please, just put on some fierfeked pants."

"Boys, you listen to Wolf," Adriaan called out,"because I'm coming in there in about fifteen seconds, and if you guys aren't decently dressed, I'm going to…"

"Okay, okay, just a minute, ma'am!" Darc shouted with hyperbolic enthusiasm. "Right away, miss!"

There was the rustling of blankets being thrown off and articles of clothing being hastily thrust on. She heard one boy snicker. Finally, there was the shuffle of bare feet moving across the floor, and the door was flown open.

"Decently dressed and ready for action, ma'am!" Cor said with a mock salute. Darc was smirking, holding a blanket across the lower half of Cor's body. Ember was sitting on the bed behind them, his head in his hands. Adriaan just stared.

"Uh…" That was all Adriaan could manage before the clone and Darc roared with laughter.

"See the look on her face! Hah hah!" Darc howled, dropping the blanket as he fell and rolled on the floor, in hysterics. Now that the improvised curtain was gone, Adriaan saw what the whole joke was about: Cor had been fully dressed. They had just been pulling her leg.

"You're impossible," she told the two of them, suppressing a grin in spite of herself. This was the first time in a long time that she had seen Cor smile.

"Hah hah! Your eyes were like flying saucers! Priceless!" Darc shrieked, clutching his sides.

"Aw, leave her alone," Wolf said, pushing the two pranksters out of the way. "Seriously, sometimes I can't tell the difference between you and the Wicked Club."

"Then you must be GOODLY blind!" Aedan shouted, sitting bolt upright in his bed. "A child of two could easily tell the difference between that flabby, disgusting, unattractive, GOOD Hutt; and me, the WICKED King, who is the most dashing, WICKED, ripped, WICKED, and WICKED hunk ever born!"

Andre, Nic, and Heatrian coughed as a way of discreetly showing their disagreement. Even they admitted that their Wicked King had a little too much of an ego.

"Here's the rifle," Wolf said, tossing Adriaan the weapon. "For disintegration mode, hold the trigger down for three seconds, then release."

Adriaan eyed the gun dubiously. "Won't it make noise?"

"Nah. Relatively silent. About fifty-three decibels loud."

"Oh. Good."

"Have fun," Ember said a little too offhandedly, pushing her politely yet firmly out the door and shutting it behind her.

Adriaan looked at the weapon in her hand, then turned back to the closed door, hoping Wolf or someone would open it and ask her if she was sure about doing this. Because she wasn't. It wasn't because she was squeamish about killing someone ––– she had only freaked out once, and that had been her first kill…when she had been ten years old. So much for that. No, she didn't want to do this because she had killed people before, but because she had never shot a person that was already dead. She tried to kill people as swiftly as possible, so there was no reason for her to hit someone twice. But to shoot a person that was already dead, to watch his stiff, lifeless body disintegrate before her eyes…something was just plain abhorrent about it.

But very well. Wolf ––– a mere eight year old ––– had done it, so she, at age seventeen, could, and would.

The girls were already asleep when she came back into a room. Perhaps they were too tired to notice a dead body lying on the floor, or perhaps they were too lazy to care. All the better for them; Adriaan had no intention of cleaning up Padawan vomit from the carpet any time that evening…morning, whatever. It was dawn, and Adriaan hadn't had a bit of sleep, and she still had two jobs left.

She nudged the body with the tip of her bare foot. Yep, he was definitely dead. He was all stiff and cold. She hefted the disruptor rifle in her arms and paused for a moment. It was a shame to disintegrate the armor. It was sith armor, but Adriaan wasn't picky about who had made it. It was well-crafted. Besides, Cor was an armor-aholic; if no one else wanted the armor, then she could just give it to Cor. Anyway, it could come in handy if she had to go undercover and try to infiltrate the sith organization. That last justification decided it for her. Taking a knee beside the corpse, she eased the armor plates from it, stacking the pieces neatly beside her. All that was left was the helmet. She took a deep breath and slid it off the head.

_Shavit. _The cultist was another teenager. Typical. Of course the sith would recruit the most impressionable and rebellious of Galactic citizens: young adults. Great. Just fabulous. Adriaan would have felt better had he been older than herself, but this guy wasn't even as old as Kan.

"Sorry; it was you or my boys, son," she told the cadaver. She smiled at her words. "_Son." "My boys." "You or us." Moons and stars, I'm starting to sound like a clone commander. Well, I guess that's what I am now; a military officer. That's what I told the Council, all right: I'd rather be a good officer than a paragon Jedi. Yep, that's what I meant, too. I don't take those words back, not at all. _

And a GAR officer wouldn't have scruples about disintegrating a dead body. It was for the mission, and the mission came first. So be it. Adriaan rammed the rifle into her shoulder and squinted through the sights, pointing the gun at the boy's head. The weapon felt amazingly light in her arms ––– more like a toy than a lethal tool.

_To think that such a light little thing could carry such demoralizingly destructive power. Size matters not, so says Master Yoda, and I guess that applies to weight as well. _

She pressed the trigger and inhaled, counting to three in her head. "Mission comes first," she said, more to the dead body than to herself, and then she released the trigger.

It wasn't so bad, watching the corpse dissipate into smoke. Adriaan had seen worse. It didn't even take that long. Putting her rifle on safety, the Jedi knelt down beside the pile of armor and made a move to lift it up, but something made her pause. The helmet. She put down the armor plates and picked up the head bucket, turning it over so that she could look at the front. It _was _nicely made, though definitely not Mandalorian style. It would be a welcome addition to Cor's collection; something a little foreign, exotic, alien. It didn't have the characteristic T-visor of the Mandos, which was a shame, for T-visors were so much better than two inadequate eye slits and a small filter to breath through. It was a rather archaic set. No HUD, no rangefinder. Just a body bucket. The gold and black paint job was cool though.

She traced her finger through the grooves of the helmet, ruminating past memories that were best forgotten. She didn't know how long she was sitting there, but she was suddenly aroused by the sound of refresher water being flushed, followed by a door being banged open and footsteps loudly stampeding across the hallway behind her.

_Teenagers_, Adriaan grinned and shook her head wryly. _Always having to make a statement about something._

The steps came to an abrupt halt. She heard the distinctively loud, obnoxious operating of lungs that could only belong to one person: Chun-be. Darc. He who is not my friend. The traitor.

_Adriaan sprinted across the space, dodging shrapnel and random explosions, charging forward as if this was her last race. "Darc!"_

_ It _was_ her last race. This was the moment that was truly life, when she was at her most alive: the moment before her death. She saw Darc, his dark head pillowed in his arms as he lay across his dead Master's body. _

My Master is dead too. My Master is dead. Darc, I killed…_Her heart beat out the words as if it had gained the ability to speak. _

_ The heavy weight of her friend's body dragged her down, trying to force her into the abyss. Everything and everyone that existed was conspiring against her; no one wanted her to succeed. All was against her, all was lost._

_ Darkness. The kind that is neither comforting nor terrifying; the blackness of nothingness. Of knowing nothing. Of passing out of all knowledge of existence…_

_ When I die, there is not one being, one living thing, be it sentient or beast, who will weep at my passing. I have failed at existing. I have left nothing behind. I am nothing._

_ Then brightness. She awoke crying and screaming, chained down in the Jedi infirmary. Chained down, she realized moments later, because she had woken up in the middle of surgery. The worst nightmare that any lifeform could experience: waking up in the middle of being operated on. It was evil, all of it. _

Where's Darc? Why isn't he here? I was there every second during the time his amputated arm was replaced with a prosthetic one; why isn't he here? There are no cybernetics being placed within me; they are just stitching up my insides, putting my guts back into my gutless self. Darc, where are you?

_"He left; he left _you_," they said. "No, it is not betrayal to forsake a path you were not meant to walk on. It is called the coming of age, and Darc has reached it. He has not betrayed you, Ree."_

You don't understand. I don't understand. He doesn't understand. He has not reached a coming of age; he was meant to be a Jedi. It was in his bones. He was meant to be a Jedi, just as I am meant to be a sith. He has not progressed, nor grown in wisdom; he is an ignoramus and a failure of the worst kind. A failure because not only has he come to a standstill, he is moving backwards.

_My fate is bound to yours just as the pupil is bound to the Master…_

"You know, no one should be up at this hour, least of all you, on whom so much depends." A shadow fell across her, and she didn't need to turn to see whose shape it belonged to. "Follow your own advice, Ree, and get some sleep."

"I can't rest; like you said, so much depends on me, and I have things left to do," she said, putting the helmet aside and rising to her feet, hauling up the stack of armor plates. "If you insist that I at least get some rest, you could help me by taking this set of armor into the boys' room on your way back. That'll save me a few seconds." She turned her attention to the broken window and seriously considered getting Kay Lee up to help her with the task. Kay Lee was a woman of various talents, including the ability to repair objects to their original status, reading her fellow Jedi's battle minds and adjusting her fighting technique accordingly so that their attack became fully effective, and inspiring beings to fight or flee. This last skill gave her Master reason to believe that she was capable of mastering the rare and powerful art of Jedi battle meditation, a power that even Adriaan had not achieved.

_I'm not worthy to be her Master; she deserves someone better. Like Mace Windu, or even Yoda. With my background, I shouldn't be training anyone, let alone twelve Padawans. By rights, I shouldn't even be a Knight. What have I done to deserve that rank? _

Kay Lee was exhausted, and Adriaan was way more than capable of handling the broken window, so she ended up letting her Apprentice sleep. Gathering the Force within her, she envisioned the pane of glass in her mind, gathering the fallen shards of transparisteel and fitting them together, like the pieces to a puzzle. When she opened her eyes again, the window was back in its frame, whole and perfect, as if it had never been broken.

"Job well done, soldier," she told herself. Yes, that was another one of the clones' habits she had gotten into ––– instigating self-confidence and motivating herself by imitating a superior officer.

"Uh, are you okay, Ree?" Fierfek. She didn't know that Darc was still there.

"Oh, fine," Adriaan said, drawing out a long yawn in the hopes that it would encourage him to go away, "I don't see why you should care, though, seeing how you betrayed me when I needed you most."

"Ree ––– Adriaan, you have no kriffing clue why I decided to leave the Order when I did, so you have no right to call me a traitor."

"You promised to protect me as I had protected you…"

"You're a Jedi, Adriaan; you can bind no being to you, as you can bind yourself to no one. Part of keeping yourself detached is keeping other people from being attached to you."

"For a person without a call to the Jedi Order, you certainly don't hesitate to preach to me like one of my Masters,"Adriaan said frostily. "Seriously, can't you tell I've had enough with Jedi Masters? To Chaos with them! They have done nothing but make my life harder than it should be."

"I speak to you not as a Jedi Master, but as a being who has acquired his wisdom from experience."

"Wisdom? What would you know about that virtue, you son of a bantha? I think even Aedan is more wise than you are."

"I understand your anger, Adriaan, but you have to let it go at some point. I regret not supporting you during your time of need, and I have done my best to repay you for that injustice."

"And what have you done, except join my contingent against my consent and harass my Apprentices?"

"You spoke of me being stupid just a while ago, and yet it is you who is being the moron by saying that!" Darc said, losing patience. "Adriaan, I can't help you hating me for what I did, but can you at least grant me some respect on account of the promises I have kept to you? I don't know what the brix is all about you keeping your Jedi Master and the Haak mumbo-jumbo a secret, but I have not breathed a word about it to anyone. At least the most important promise I've made to you I've kept."

"Yes, 'at least'. Such are the goals you make for yourself in life: the _least_ you can possibly do, but at least you did it, right? Those who do the least may stay safe and perhaps even content for the amount of time allotted to them in this universe. But those who actually leave a trail behind for others to follow, those who live lives of danger, and great pain, those who do not die of old age, but have an extraordinary hilltop death ––– who go out in a blaze of glory before the first gray hairs appear on their head ––– such are the people who strive to do more than 'the least'"

"You rebuke at me now only because you are afraid…afraid of what I know, afraid of what I'll tell Kan and your other Apprentices. It is not me that you hate, but your past; that is why you scorn me ––– because I am the only one here who knows of your past, because _I was there_."

Adriaan whirled on him, batting his arm away as he moved to place it on her shoulder. "Leave me alone, _schutta!"_

"Oh, but you _are _alone, Ree," he said, ever persistent, moving closer so that their faces were nearly touching, forcing her to meet his gaze. "You are a Jedi, Adriaan, and to be a member of that Order is to be alone." He paused to let that thought sink in. "That is part of the reason why I chose to leave. I found that I had become too attached to certain Jedi in my life, and it was only fair that I separate myself from them, because even though I was not destined to lead a solitary life, those people were, and who was I to stand in their way? What right had I? Do you understand what I'm saying, Adriaan?"

Adriaan swallowed hard. _Yes, he's right; that's why I chose being a good officer over a good Jedi. Not because I felt it to be right, but because I had given up. I had given up in the struggle to remain detached. I'm little better than he is._

_ "You surrendered your dreams of becoming a great Jedi Master in order to carry out your duty, the duty that you could have refused, yet you chose. You chose, Adriaan, and therefore the choice to be officer over Jedi was your own to make, just as it was Darc's own choice to opt for being a civilian over a Jedi. Don't hold it against him, Adriaan; who are you to tell him what his vocation is?"_

"You could have said goodbye," she whispered.

But Darc shook his head, his gray eyes dark with sorrow. "It was better leaving the way I did. Besides, you always said you hated saying goodbye."

"So I did. Always made me want to cry, and then when I did, I hated myself for not maintaining better control of my feelings."

"I really am awfully sorry I left without making sure you were all right. Can we make a pact and start all over?"

"We can make a pact, Darc, but there is no such thing as starting all over. Our friendship can never be the same as it was a few years ago, and don't get me wrong, it's not because I hate you. It's because we've grown apart. You're a civilian, destined to be great among your kind; I'm a Jedi, fated to be the lowest of my class, and ill-starred, hunted by those who bear grievances against me, bound to the destiny of dead men who live for one brief, glorious time in the universe before perishing miserably, without having made their claim among the heroes of the Republic."

"The clones?"

She nodded. "Don't misjudge me, that doom is not one I resent because I was forced to it; I made that choice out of my own free will, against the wishes of the Jedi Council. It's not a choice I regret. I can't help it; I love them as if they were my own sons."

"You haven't been officially expelled from the Jedi Order, though."

"No, and for only one reason that I can think of: the amount of Apprentices under my tutelage. If the Council expelled me, they would be left with twelve Masterless Padawans to take care of. And some of my students, I'm sorry to say, are not exactly Apprentices because of their skill and discipline. Aedan and his band were made my pupils only because they couldn't be kept under control at the Temple; the Council thought it would be best if they were sent out into the galaxy early, to use the Wicked Club's tireless energy to some good purpose.

"Perhaps you are thinking that if the Wicked Club is such a bother, why doesn't the Jedi Order expel them? Well, for two reasons ––– one, the Jedi Council hasn't lost all hope that the Wicked Club can improve; two, they fear what Aedan will become if he leaves the Order."

"He needs a Jacen Palgwebb for a Master."

Adriaan's head jerked up as the familiar name that she hadn't heard spoken for years was voiced aloud. "Jacen? Yes…yes, that was what they used to call him. Jacen Palgwebb. And I was…"

"His Apprentice."

Her eyes automatically darted toward the Padawans, but they were all sleeping like the dead. They wouldn't hear what she and Darc were saying. "Yes. But that name is nearly forgotten, you know; shadowed by the cursed name of Haak, who killed my Master and made me his slave."

"Why haven't you told your Padawans, Adriaan? Surely they deserve to know."

"Can you give any good reason for me to tell them? Jacen Palgwebb died long ago, and any skill and powers he possessed are forgotten. There is no one left in the Jedi Temple who recalls that name ––– except perhaps Katma Malub, who forgets nothing ––– and the Council, of course. But they would not tell."

"But I would, and wouldn't you rather they heard the terrible tale from your own lips, instead of mine? You know how tactless I am, I could get carried away and get into all the grisly details…"

"No, you wouldn't tell, Darc. Not now, not after all these years."

"Why not? Haak and Jacen are both dead, and as far as I know, the Ree that was my friend is dead, too. I have kept your secret all these years, and all I have gotten in return is your hatred. Why should I keep my promise?"

Adriaan cast aside her fear and attempted to approach Chun-be dispassionately, with reason instead of anger at his veiled threat. "I thought we just decided to make a pact and forget about that matter."

"We haven't made the pact yet."

"Well, then, if not now, then why are we even bothering?" She said with a burst of impatience. It was hard for her to talk to Darc without feeling an overpowering urge to lift him up and break his spineless body in a Force grip, to make him feel the devastating extent of her power.

"Just tell me why I should be keeping all this a secret. Haak is no threat; he's dead, you killed him yourself. There's no harm in telling them about a dead man, is there?"

Adriaan looked at him pityingly. "Ah, that is the problem. It appears that I did not do a, ah…_thorough _job."

Darc groaned. "You mean he's alive?"

"I met him on Umbria. That was what the fight between me and Kan was about; I didn't want to tell him who Haak was."

"And the cultists have all been wearing those tattoos…" Darc inhaled sharply. "Holy milking sith, Ree, is Haak the one behind all this racket on Kuat?"

"I haven't seen him or sensed him ––– but then, I didn't feel his presence on Umbria, either ––– so it's highly possible that he's in charge. It's also plausible that these people could just be the remnant of his followers."

"Doesn't this further support my point? Your Padawans are all putting their time and their lives on the line by accompanying you on this mission, and you won't even brief them on Intel highly relevant to the objective. Isn't that your job? If you've really made the decision to go military, then you would put your mens' lives first and your personal feelings somewhere farther down the line of importance.

"I'm not saying you're a bad General, Adriaan, I'm just giving you some advice on how to be a better officer. There's always room for improvement. I care about these kids ––– whatever you may think ––– and how would you feel if they died on account of not knowing enough about this cult?"

"It…you misjudge me," Adriaan said, wholeheartedly cursing Darc to Chaos for making her feel so guilty. "It's not my personal feelings about it that prevent me from telling them, it's…well, I'm their Master, their role model, their big sister, and part of my job is to protect them from the ugly things that do exist in this universe. They will, of course, face these horrible things eventually, but in their own time, so there's no reason for them to know about it when they're still young."

"Adriaan, what if you die before they're old enough? It happened to Master Palgwebb and Kan's old Master and Kay's old Master and Marya's old Master and Jordin's old Master, so why shouldn't it happen to you?"

"I've got too much responsibility to die off on them like that."

"Who determines when your death will take place? It isn't you, is it? Seriously, it could happen at _any time. _What if you died during this mission? Who would be left to take things over for you? Kay Lee? A capable woman, but she still has much to learn, and she has had no experience with sith cultists, nor knows of Haak. Me? No, I am not respected or skilled enough to be in a position of authority with your students."

"The clones can take care of the strategizing part; they've been well instructed in carrying out covert ops assignments. It is to them you must turn to in the event of my passing."

"The clones?" Darc smiled, but his grin was without mirth. "The clones are weak."

Adriaan's fists clenched, and her anger flared up at his dismissive words. Her reaction wasn't Jedi-like. It was the reaction of a big sister, whose brothers were being called names; a mother, whose sons were being dishonored; a military Commander, whose soldiers were being severely criticized. "Just because they aren't Force-adepts doesn't mean they should be regarded as weak."

"I am not speaking of their inability to use the Force. Adriaan, you've seen them; I know who their host is. Jango Fett ––– that great, brutal, strong Mandalorian whom we had the misfortune of meeting during the Goba Shag revolt…"

"Without him, we would still be there, toiling in that pirate nest," Adriaan said sharply. "He was a great help to us."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot, you had a serious crush on him. No wonder you love clones so much…"

Adriaan grabbed Darc by the collar and threw him against the wall, wrapping her hands around his throat so that he couldn't breathe. "How _dare _you slander me," she hissed. "How kriffing dare you, you fierfeked _shutta. E chu ta. _Don't you _dare _say anything like that again, you understand me! I may be the worst Jedi ever spawned, but you can _never _say that I ever went against that particular rule in the Jedi code. I have _never, _and will never, have a crush on _anyone." _She sank her fingers into the fabric of his jacket and threw him down to the floor, releasing him from the strangehold. He groveled on the floor, trying to regain his breath.

"Sorry!" he gasped. "That was below the belt. Entirely my fault."

"Precisely," she answered heartlessly.

"Thanks for agreeing." He brushed his tunic down a bit nervously and continued. "Now, the thing about Jango Fett: these guys are his clones. I know you're rather sensitive about this subject, but these guys were bred to be _lesser _men than an already low-life bounty hunter scum…"

"I know what you're going to say, and I suggest for your own safety that we forget that line of topic," Adriaan said as smoothly as she could muster.

Darc nodded in assent, though his face betrayed his sadness. "Adriaan, please just be careful with them. I know they're charming and distractingly attractive and strong and loyal and possessing all the qualities I suppose you find admirable in males, but you have to remember the man they were modeled from. I'm a little rusty with the Force, but I pick up things sometimes, and I've been feeling this undercurrent of darkness beneath that facade of charming innocence and intellectual brilliance. Yes, they may be heroes to you, but there's a bad streak in them. Whatever the Kaminoans did to them, they will always have the mark of Jango. Beware of it, Adriaan."

"Darc, while I'm not telling you to disregard what the Force tells you, you have to remember that I've known these boys longer than you have," Adriaan said, choosing her words carefully. "Besides, like you said, you haven't accessed the Force in a long time, so it's highly possible ––– no, it's _definite_ ––– that you're misreading them. Yes, I know they're fallible, but aren't we all? They're better men than most of us are, for they are courageous, selfless, trustworthy, honorable, and undyingly loyal to the Republic."

"See? Undyingly loyal to the _Republic; _to a government which is perhaps even more corrupt and fallible than a sentient lifeform," Darc pointed out. "They're loyal to a regime, but they've never pledged their allegiance to _you_."

"Nor do I ask for their allegiance. I'm marked out to be a sith, Darc; the Council knows it, I know it, my Master knew it, and Haak knows it ––– that's why he's been hunting me all these years. I've been labeled as a being that was born evil, the Chosen One of the Sith ––– or anti-Chosen one, if you like ––– and now I'm a gray Jedi, one who walks between the paths of the Jedi and the sith. I don't dare make anyone swear allegiance to me, not with my destiny already determined as it is."

"Adriaan, you can't be born evil; nothing ever is. That is why evil is evil; because it isn't natural to be evil, but to be good…oh, bother, I hate intellectual discussions like this," Darc burst out, frustrated. "Adriaan, you are the one who controls your destiny; not your surroundings, your powers, or any other person. It's all you. So I have as much potential to turn to the dark side as you do."

"Nevertheless, if my fate is to be hunted down by a sith fanatic who believes in some derisible prophesy of the coming of an anti-Chosen One, I can't force anyone to suffer with me. That's why I don't tell them, Darc; the knowledge does not bring peace of mind and wisdom, but torment and insanity. For seven years, Darc, I've borne this terrible knowledge of Haak and his sith cult, and I can't bear the thought of making anyone else suffer what I've suffered. There's no reason for them to; this battle is not theirs. It is mine. I will be the one to face him, in the end; why torture them with the telling of my terrible life story?"

Darc sat down on the bed, putting his head in his hands. "I don't know; it just doesn't feel right."

"Not all good actions feel like they should be, I'm afraid."

"So am I still bound to my promise?"

"To not tell them about the anti-Chosen One prophesy, and the correlation between Haak, his sith sect, and I? Yes."

"Can I tell them about Master Palgwebb, at least? There surely can be no harm in telling them about him, and you know they've all been curious about your mystery Master. They're always wondering how you acquired such a strict teacher mentality."

"From Jacen, I'm afraid," Adriaan said with a smile. "Good old Master Jacen; he'd make you crank out five hundred pushups for the slightest mistake in a sparring match. And then, after a five hour practice, he'd get in your face and demand why you were so stinky and sweaty. If you made a mistake ––– which was often, since he had the eyes of a hawk and would catch an error as slight as a pinky bent at the wrong moment ––– then you ran a mile, or did some Koré, or chin-ups on a bar suspended over a pit of ravenous Vrblthers. If you did everything perfectly ––– a practically fictitious occurrence ––– then you chose between chinups over the pit of Vrblthers, or fighting Jacen Palgwebb. The first day as his Apprentice I made the mistake of choosing to fight him instead of the pit beasts. After that, I always chose Vrblthers.

"Jacen Palgwebb was the hardest but the best Master I could have ever gotten, and my Apprentices would learn much from the stories I could tell about him, but no, I cannot tell. To them, my Master's name is Netari Ptosoy ––– a woman I have never met. They cannot know of Jacen, Darc, because then all they would have to do is go plug in my Master's name into the database in the Jedi Archives, and all his files would come up, and of course, Haak's and Ra'hal's files would pop up too, since I embedded them within my Master's file. It was the only thing I could do to protect the files, because Madam Jocasta Nu and the Council refused my request to erase them from the Archive memory."

"Why the brix would they want Ra'hal and Haak's names still in the Archive memory? They were not persons of particular intelligence, and they were fallen Jedi, anyway. Besides, up until a few weeks ago we thought Haak was dead. Why keep a file on a dead bad guy?"

"I think the Council had their doubts about him truly being dead, but didn't want to tell me for fear of inducing mental trauma. So they kept the files in case he should turn up again, and then they would brief some Jedi that wasn't me and send him off to finish my job for me. I have to say, it was rather decent of them to look out for me like that. They were right in refraining from voicing their suspicions to me."

"You seem to be dealing quite well with the knowledge of Haak still being alive, actually."

"That's because I'm a good actor. I'm terrified," Adriaan answered.

Darc's face underwent a total transformation. "Then that changes the situation entirely. Never before have I heard you admit fear."

"I'd be less scared if I had your promise of confidentiality."

"If you promise to be nice to me again…"

"Sure, whatever. I promise." Adriaan said, knowing that the actual carrying out of her promise would be a million times more trying than simply agreeing to do it.

He held out his hand. "Friends, Ree?"

She took his hand and shook it firmly. "Friends…Darc."

"Then I solemnly swear by the spirit of my dead Master, Twyla Arelan, to never reveal the secret we previously discussed to anyone, no matter their affiliation," he said gravely, and Adriaan felt in her heart that his promise was sincere.

Darc went off into his room shortly after, and Adriaan, her heart buoyed by an unexpected sense of relief, knew that after the events that had just transpired, she would get no sleep that night. So she went to go tell Onor that he was relieved of guard duty, and took vigil in the hallway joining the two rooms, waiting for the Kuat sun to pierce the dark blanket of the night and blind the gleam of the two moons as it heralded the coming of day four hundred and five of the clone war. She stood at attention, heels together, one hand on the saber now openly displayed on her belt, the other cradling the disruptor rifle against her chest. If there were to be any more intruders, Adriaan wasn't planning on firing a second time to dispose of the dead body.

Covert ops were notoriously tedious, with long breaks in between the small yet highly intense bits of peril and action. Adriaan had a bad feeling that day one was going to be the most productive.

Ember had been right; they had gotten quite a lot done in just one day. They had gotten in contact with a suspect and tagged her, killed three sith cultists after engaging in a thoroughly hair-raising chase through Kuat City, and ––– most importantly ––– Adriaan had renewed a friendship that had been broken two years ago. She didn't care that she had renewed her friendship with a weak, flirtatious, excessively chivalrous young man that had neither the skills nor the contacts nor the strength to help her in her struggle against the sith, but when dealing with Haak, Adriaan figured that every ally would soon prove useful.


	8. Chapter 7: Down With the Republic

**_Su'cuy! _Hope this has been an exciting adventure for you all. Thanks to those who added my stories to their fav lists, and thanks especially to those who reviewed! That means a lot to me! You guys are the best!**

**As usual, all readers are welcome to comment after they read. I look forward to hearing some feedback!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Star Wars, _nor did I develop the Mandalorian language and culture. **

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Chapter 7

_"This is your decision to make. I cannot influence your choice. These are good people whom you lead, and these people trust you. Perhaps I should be so bold to say that they even love you. This planet is no backwater world, either. If you can overlook the bitterly cold winter seasons, you could call Goba Shag a paradise. And being their leader would be something you'd be good at, Ree. If you choose to stay here, I am certain that you will be lauded as one of the most brilliant leaders in galactic history. Whereas if you decide to be a Jedi, I can tell you right now that you wouldn't make a Knight on talent alone; you're going to have to work your butt off if you want to be any good. If you will remain my Apprentice, I can't guarantee that you'll become a successful Knight, but I will guarantee that you'll be the Jedi warrior in the best shape." - _Jacen Palgwebb, to his Apprentice, shortly following the Goba Shag rebellion.

✶ Onara's Private Apartments, 1200, 405 days ABG ✶

"It is a great pleasure to finally meet you in person, Ambassador Rain," Onara Kuat said as she ushered the group into her spacious, luxurious apartments. "Senator Danu said you had some business to discuss. Come, would you like to discuss it over lunch?"

"We would be, ah…_delighted_," Adriaan said, not sure if bowing would give her identity away as a Jedi. So she managed a cordial nod, and that seemed to suit the principal director just fine.

They had decided that they wouldn't tell Onara who they really were; though a well-known Republic ally, the principal director only gave her allegiances to the GAR on account of credits. Besides, there had been a scandal just prior to the clone war ––– something about KDY manufacturing the Separatists' warships. Sure, KDY was the Grand Army's top navy producer, but Adriaan had no way of telling if the principal director was reaping profits from both sides of the war. Better to play it safe than be sorry.

"Of course Ambassador Rain was delighted when she figured out you were offering us all lunch," Klamin remarked pompously. "Anything to get us a free meal, right, Ambassador?"

Adriaan shot Klamin a dirty look, then turned apologetically to the principal director. "Forgive my escort's lack of manners; as you well know, the Goba Shag court was only founded a few years ago, so naturally not all the rules of court etiquette have been worked out yet."

"Indeed," Onara replied impassively. "Please, come in."

Kan found that he was very uncomfortable in the principal director's home suite. Unlike Senator Danu's apartments, Onara's rooms practically screamed "Look how successful and rich I am!" Cautiously tiptoeing across the costly rugs of Laroon fur, Kan kept his hands by his sides and tried to keep himself from staring. He could tell that the others were trying very hard to do the same.

The dining room was lit by a crystal chandelier, and lunch looked like it was going to be a very formal occasion, in which one put on their best manners. Kan, feeling very clumsy and ignorant, sat down at the first available chair, only to receive a frown of disapproval from the principal director. Oops; maybe he should wait for her to sit down before making any moves. Kan got up, shamefaced, and the others gathered round the table, all eyes turned toward Adriaan. They were depending on her to give them hints on proper behavior. Their Master had obviously had some sort of instruction in the art of social etiquette, for she took her place at Onara's right hand and didn't sit until the principal had done so first. The Knight sat down beside Onara Kuat, nodding slightly in the others' direction, indicating that they should do the same. The Padawans sat down rather hurriedly, as if embarrassed. They would have sat down more gracefully, had not Kay Lee taken the opportunity to yank out Darc's chair from underneath him, so that when he went to take a load off he found himself on his back on the floor. The clones, too, paused for a moment, no doubt recalling some obscure GAR rule about not being allowed to sit down in a Jedi officer's presence, but Adriaan waved her hand impatiently at them to proceed, so they sat down rather abruptly and noisily, too.

Klamin, out of all the Padawans, showed the most tact and grace during the meal. Having once been a member of the Zylxxian court, he no doubt had dined like this on many occasions. The Zylxxians being an aesthetic, rule-conforming society, they probably had more rules of etiquette to follow than the Kuati did.

The meal was good, though a bit on the fine side. Andora looked completely repelled when they brought in the main course of spiced aric tongue served on top a mound of barq. The tongue was a brilliant blue color, and was a beautiful accompaniment to the pearl-like grains of barq. After he tried a bite of tongue, Kan found he could stomach the startling cobalt color of the meat. The sauce was well-spiced, and went well with the Coruscant blush wine. He, the other Apprentices, and the clones enjoyed the meal with gusto, though Andora didn't appear to touch her plate at all. Barq was harvested on Qiilura by native Weequays, who were enslaved to Trade Federation officials. Andora had always refused to eat food that wasn't supported by free trade. The others, however, had to show deference to their host by enjoying the meal, so they did.

During lunch, Adriaan briefly and politely briefed Onara on their ––– false ––– motives for coming to Kuat. Kan, his mind completely focused on the good food in front of him, didn't pay much attention to what his Master was saying.

Aedan belched loudly, and everyone's gaze swerved to him. The offender glared at them, offended that they should take offense at hearing bodily functions, and spat on the floor to show his contempt for etiquette.

"I'm WICKED!" he screamed.

"Be quiet, Aedan," Kay Lee hissed.

"You cannot GOODLY tell me to be quiet! I am the WICKED King!" Aedan shrieked.

"AS I WAS SAYING," Adriaan said loudly over Aedan's scream, "I realize tours of the shipyard may not be readily available, what with the tightened security measures to counteract the increased sabotage…"

"Who told you that?" Onara asked sharply. "I know for sure that none of that has been announced on the news; I have kept the authorities out of it and told my employees to keep quiet, for the sake of the sanity of the Kuati. How did you come to hear of this?"

"Well, you know, there's always people who will talk," Adriaan replied vaguely. "Of course, you need not worry about me, my lady ––– I would never reveal that knowledge to anyone."

"What have you heard?" Onara persisted, obviously flustered at the news that a mere foreigner knew about what was going on at KDY.

"Merely rumors, ma'am; something about a teenager walking into the factory and stealing the schematics to your newest ship design, though I must say that tale is grandly exaggerated –––"

"It is. The teenager you allude to was actually an adult, male human; furthermore, he did not just "walk in" ––– he strangled the guards just by looking at them."

"Is such a feat possible?" Adriaan asked with feigned incredulity.

"Mar-yee-ah Y-y-y-aw-aw-aw-n-n-n!" Aedan yelled in a high-pitched, singsong voice which startled the Zabrak Padawan from her dark ruminations.

"Shut up," Marya said.

"You cannot tell me to shut up; I am the WICKED King," Aedan answered.

"It is rumored that Jedi possess such powers," Onara said dismissively, ignoring the screaming match going on down at the lower end of the table. "However he did it, the blueprints are gone. Luckily, besides the demise of four of our guards, we suffered little loss from that miniature episode. The prototype was completed before the template was stolen."

Kan saw his Master's eyebrows raise. "If that is so, then why in the world would that man steal the blueprints? Why not steal the ship?"

"Blueprints would be easier to smuggle in to a rival company such as Hoersch-Kessel Drive, Inc., or there is a good possibility that he didn't even know we had the ship finished in the first place," the director explained. "In either case, we must be extra vigilant and keep good watch over KDY's finest ship design since the _Venator_-class starship."

"Is it a patrol craft, a destroyer, a starfighter, a medical frigate, or what?"

"Patrol craft, with all the latest armaments and upgrades installed. It has a Class Three hyperdrive, a maximum acceleration of two thousand, seven hundred MGLT; a cargo capacity of eighty tons, and can also carry up to ten passengers. A very modest and practical transport."

"Why, that is just the ship that I want!" Adriaan cried, smacking her fist on the table and startling her Padawans and troopers out of their postprandial somnolence.

"Your own law enforcement craft with all the latest upgrades?" Darc groaned and covered his head in his hands. "That'll only make it _easier _for you to kill me."

"Exactly," Kay murmured contentedly.

"Besides, from what I've heard, you already have a luxury cruiser," Onara said with a frown. "A Nubian yacht is a fine vessel to own, and I assure you, the prototype I'm speaking of doesn't have that Nubian trademark streamlined design and chromium sheath. Why do you need a second ship?"

"Oh, the Nubian isn't exactly my own ship; it's the Queen's. Government property, you know. When I go on private star travel, I take a big, clunky Trandoshan frigate. Hardly worth the durasteel alloy it's made of, I'm afraid. No weapons to speak of, and the sublight engines have a Class 15 hyperdrive rating, and date back to way before the Mandalorian Civil War."

"Dear me. What in the world do you do if you're attacked by pirates?"

Adriaan shrugged. "My ship looks like such a piece of junk, not even pirates bother attacking it. While that's an advantage, there are far more snags. For example, I have to stop every twenty-five or so megalights to refuel, and most of the time the only place available to land is some uninhabited rock in the middle of space. I think it's time I got something new. I need a ship that's not too fancy, and something that'll be able to bite back if it's attacked."

Onara hesitated, but the Jedi smiled, seeing greedy glitter in the Kuati's eyes. "We have other ship models that fit your criteria."

"Then show me them all. And if I'm pleased with the newest design, maybe I can persuade the Queen to invest in supplying the whole royal navy with these starships. We are planning to be the planetary host for another KDY shipyard, are we not?"

That decided it as far as the principal director was concerned. She rang for the servodroids to come clear the table, and rose from her seat. "Come, we can go down to the shipyards now, if you like."

"It would be our pleasure," Adriaan said, and then she and the others stood up and followed Onara Kuat out the door.

Onara lived fairly close to the shipyards, so it didn't take them long to get there. The principal director walked right up to the front entrance and was shown in immediately. As the GAR contingent entered the shipyard, Jedi Commander Kay Lee was at first struck by how efficiently it was run. The Republic had done well to choose KDY as its top navy manufacturer. The place they entered vaguely resembled the docking bay of a _Venator-_class starship. Spaceship prototypes of all classes lay docked in their spaces, shining as brightly as if they had just been painted. Beyond the vehicles was the airlock, the window from which viewers could see the warships being assembled in space. Adjacent to this bay was a hallway which led to the repair yard; squinting down the corridor, Kay discerned various mechanics darting to and fro from one wounded ship to another.

All the transports in the bay were civilian class, so the principal director walked right past the coruscating ships with barely a glance and entered the bay marked _Law Enforcement/Patrol craft prototypes._

"I believe the ships best suited for you will be found in here," Onara said, barreling over an unfortunate Sullustan employee that had been moving out the door. She had been carrying a big durasteel bin full of spare parts, and Onara's shove sent the short lifeform flying onto her back, with the box of parts clashing down on top of her. The principal director indifferently swept past the fallen mechanic. As the little alien struggled to a sitting position, Drag paused and held out his hand, hauling the Sullustan to her feet while he, in turn, bent down to help gather up the scattered contents of the bin.

"Please, sir, that is not necessary…entirely my fault," the employee pleaded, edgily darting around the clone so that she could clean up the mess herself.

"No, the fault's all mine; my girlfriend is so clumsy. She should really learn to watch where she's going," Drag said smoothly as he stacked the pieces back in the bin.

The Sullustan's large black eyes widened even more at Drag's statement. "That was the-the principal director! Onara Kuat! Sir, do you mean to tell me that she's your _girlfriend?!"_

"Ex-girlfriend, actually," Drag said, and Kay wondered where Drag had learned those terms. Not from experience, certainly.

"Good, very good; pardon my saying so, but you're too young, courteous, and good-looking to be dating the likes of her." The mechanic's wits must have been scrambled by the fall she had taken, or she wouldn't be saying such things about her employer.

"I'll tell her you said that." The soldier smiled to let the mechanic know he was joking. He stacked up the rest of the parts and hefted the box as he rose, ignoring the Sullustan's attempts to get her crate back. "Now, where is this box going?"

"Please, sir, there really is no need for you to be doing this…"

"I owe it to you for getting knocked over by that ugly old hag." He began rummaging through the contents of the crate. "Am I mistaken, or are these panels from the hull of an ARC-170 starfighter? Are these for blast-burn repairs or something?"

"Maybe," the employee answered vaguely.

Drag looked beseechingly at Kay and mouthed "mind-trick" at her. The Padawan took her cue and felt for the mechanic's mind in the Force.

_You want to get this off your chest. You want to tell him what the parts are for._

"I need to get this off my chest," the Sullustan said. "These are the replacement parts I need to fix the ships that were sabotaged last night."

Over the alien's head, Drag grinned and gave Kay a big thumbs up.

"Sabotage?" Kay repeated. "Just random teenagers vandalizing property, or what?"

"If they're just bored kids, they sure are persistent," the Sullustan remarked grimly. "Been going on for the past couple of months, and we still have no idea who they are. Onara's pulling her hair out over it, but there isn't anything she can do." She was spilling everything out now; perhaps she really _had _needed to get this information off her chest.

"Where are the ships?" Drag asked.

The Sullustan frowned as Kay's mind control started to break up. "Non-employees aren't allowed to know about this…Onara said the public must not be told…"

Kay sent a fresh message to the little alien's brain. _You trust us. We can go see the sabotaged ships._

"But…I trust you," the mechanic said. "You can come with me to go see the sabotaged ships."

"We'd love to, ma'am," Drag said amiably. The employee immediately strode off towards the repair docks, and the clone followed, murmuring "Good job" to Kay as he passed her. The Jedi Padawan hesitated, torn between tagging along after Adriaan to see the new prototype, or going with Drag to investigate the damaged ships. Tapping into the Force, she sent the question to her Master through telepathy.

Adriaan, now a small figure in the distance, tilted her head slightly and met Kay's questioning gaze from across the space. She raised her hand and made a curt "move along" gesture, and then turned back to listen attentively to the principal director.

Kay grinned. That was what she had wanted to do anyway; investigating the vandalized ships sounded much more exciting then looking at some dumb old patrol craft and listening to that tiresome woman intoning on about how great KDY was. The Padawan whirled on her heel and dashed after Drag.

The Sullustan ––– whose name, it turned out, was Isaylor ––– led them quickly through the repair bay, skirting plunk droids, oil-splattered mechanics, and grease stains on the floor. Finally, they reached reached their destination ––– a door forbiddingly marked with an EMPLOYEES ONLY sign. The Sullustan paused here.

"Problem?" Drag asked pleasantly.

"Yes, sir," Isaylor said. "The security check only lets you in if you have a security chip." She held up the ID tag. "One per person."

"Sithspit," Kay said irritably.

"Allow me," Drag said, bending down over the control with a small servodriver he deftly removed from his breast pocket. He pried off the control panel and began disengaging and reconnecting wires. Presently, the door sensor flashed green and opened up. The three darted in, and the Sullustan led them down a short, dimly lit passageway that opened up into another, smaller docking space. Here, Isaylor stopped again.

"Can I have my box back?" she demanded. Kay's mind trick was wearing off again. The Padawan sent another wave of the Force towards the Sullustan so that her brain was indefinitely numbed.

"Let's make it quick," Kay told the clone.

"It'll only take a moment," the soldier said, ambling over to one of the ships and plopping the box down beside it. He walked around the craft, inspecting it closely. As he sauntered along to the portside, the Padawan heard him draw in his breath sharply. "Oh, ma'am, I think you should see this."

_Wait here, _Kay Lee commanded Isaylor's mind, and then ran quickly around the ship to meet up with Drag. She found the clone standing with his fingers hooked in his belt, which meant he was fingering the holdout blaster concealed underneath his shirt. He barely glanced at Kay Lee; his eyes were boring two holes into the hull of the ship ––– an ARC-170 starfighter, a clone dogfighter. A war machine. As Kay took a closer look at the craft, she saw that there were, indeed, holes in the hull. Several, in fact, and the ruptures weren't the kind ships got from dogfights in space. No blast burns, no smoke stains, no scorch marks on the engines. The ship was brand new.

"Is this it?" Kay asked.

Drag jerked his head, indicating that they should go around to the starboard. They walked around to inspect that side. No perforations, but there were slash marks across the hull, and the S-foils had been amputated. Cockpit bubble was breached, too. There were few tools in the galaxy that could slice through a starship's hull with such ease and precision.

The only tool Kay knew of that was capable of such effortlessly destructive power was a lightsaber. Senator Danu had been right; the marks couldn't have been made by any other known implement.

Drag went around and did a brief scrutiny of the other ships. "It's all basically the same," he called. "Breached hull, severed S-foils, and long, angled incisions."

"No blast marks?"

"None; it seems they only needed one tool to damage these ships. They didn't bother to leave signatures on their works of art, either. How unprofessional of them; you'd think after taking all that trouble they'd want to let people know that they were the geniuses who made these masterpieces. How rude of them to ––– oh, wait…ah, how lovely, how becoming of them…"

"What?" Commander Lee had learned to beware whenever she heard one of the clones speaking in that tone of voice ––– casual, indifferent, bored, and dripping with sarcasm. It usually meant quite the opposite of what they were feeling. Drag sounded apathetic, but she knew that what he found was something that disturbed him.

_That means I probably don't want to go around and take a look at what he's found. _But this was the Grand Army, and General ell Talaan ––– or any good officer, for that matter ––– didn't take "I didn't look because I thought I would be scared" for an excuse.

So she took the ten quick steps across the bay and went to stand by the clone's side. He was standing in front of a different sort of ship ––– civilian craft, by the looks of it ––– and the frown on his face told her he wasn't happy. She turned halfheartedly to the ship and found that, like the other craft in the bay, it was brand new. It had just been chromium-plated, by the looks of it, and ––– oh, Onara was going to be furious when she saw this ––– the finish had been ruined by a crude drawing spray-painted onto the port side. It showed a masculine figure all kitted up in pristine white armor ––– clone armor, represented with a startling accuracy in detail, Kay noted ––– and his face was hidden by the helmet. But it was a clone trooper, there was no doubt of that. Then came the horrible part: the clone trooper was being attacked from all sides by a quintet of beings clothed in gold and black armor ––– the same armor found on the man that had attacked Jordin on Umbria. The cultists represented in the drawings all appeared to be humans, and the leader was mounted on a Rancor beast, who was bent over the clone trooper, ready to devour the soldier, to rend him to pieces with its bloodstained claws and teeth. Four words were scrawled in red paint upon the beast's flank.

"Down with the Republic!" it announced defiantly.

* * * * *

"And here we have a Law-class light patrol craft, fifty-one meters in length, maximum speed eight hundred and fifty kilometers an hour; equipped with shielding, two laser cannons and laser cannon turrets, and proton torpedo launcher; cargo capacity two hundred and fifty metric tons. Used for systems patrol or as a scout craft."

Kan tried very hard not to yawn as Ember intelligently asked, "What's the hyperdrive rating?"

"Class 1, and class 12 backup."

Adriaan shook her head. "I'd need a crew of fifteen; that's too many for my budget. I need a smaller craft." She stopped by a ship that was about nineteen meters in length and gazed at it with an interest that seemed genuine. "What about this one?"

"Oh, that's an S40K Phoenix Hawk-class light pinnace," Onara said, adding dismissively, "but someone of your class could hardly consider buying something so austere. It's quite a step down from the Nubian. Not your type."

"Like I said, my salary isn't as large as you seem to assume, director," Adriaan said, and Onara Kuat frowned with disapproval. Perhaps she found it rude that the Jedi was being so frank about how much money she had.

"Very well; class 2 hyperdrive, equipped shielding, two heavy blaster cannons and two light ion cannons. Cargo capacity only twenty metric tons, and needs only one to two crewmembers. However, it can only carry about four passengers, but it's very good for long-distance trips. If business often takes you out into the Outer Rim and the more dangerous sectors of the galaxy, this is a ship I would recommend."

"Price?"

"One hundred and twelve thousand credits new; twenty-two thousand, five hundred if it's used."

"That's not a bad price," one of the clones said in the subcutaneous comlink. Everyone had gotten the communications devices implanted underneath their skins that morning. Especially designed for espionage agents, the subcutaneous link allowed the user to communicate with others sharing the link just by speaking in a whisper. "Delta-7's cost more than twice that much, and all you can fit in those is the pilot; no passengers, and the cargo capacity is only sixty kilograms."

"Mmmm," Adriaan responded aloud, and Kan couldn't tell if she was pleased or not. Onara, however, seemed to interpret the answer as negative, for they moved on quickly to the next ship. "This next patrol craft is a bit smaller and only has two laser cannons as armaments…" Blah blah blah. Kan wished he had stayed behind at the apartment to finish his barq and tongue. This was turning out to be quite boring, especially compared to the events of last night.

_The Master's fate is tied to the pupil's…_

What did Lord Iratus mean by that? He treated Kan's Master as if his boss somehow knew her. Even more disturbing was Adriaan's reaction…

_"I'm not his pupil! Tell me where he is! Where is _Haak _hiding?"_

In Iratus' last moments, Kan had had the brief suspicion that his Master had wanted to kill the cultist. But whatever good that hadn't been killed by Adriaan's new overwhelming desire to avenge the deaths of her Padawans and her troops had kept her from dealing the final blow. Kan shuddered as he remembered the vow Master ell Talaan ––– "_General _ell Talaan, if you don't mind" Adriaan had insisted ––– had made at the funeral.

_"'Those who stand before us light the night sky in flame. Our vengeance burns brighter still.' I swear by the lightsaber I built with my own hands, I will avenge every clone's and Padawan's life that was taken in this war. This is my promise to you; the Separatists and the sith will pay for what they have done."_

To repay hate with hate never solved anything and friends came in handy when one was being hunted down by a sith fanatic. Kan scrutinized Darc Chun-be using his peripherals. Something had changed between the ex-Padawan and Kan's Master. Gone was the animosity that had caused such tension to run between the former friends. Adriaan seemed more relaxed around Darc now; she looked less inclined to kill him. Perhaps they had finally talked to each other and straightened things out between them.

"Does that model come in pink? That's Neela's favorite color," Darc quipped as Onara droned on about a prisoner transport. Adriaan laughed mildly at the remark, which greatly surprised all her companions; if he had made that comment just yesterday, Darc would have found himself in grave danger of mutilation.

Kan hadn't exactly understood why Adriaan had been so mad at Darc for leaving the Jedi Order, but he had always stood by his Master whenever the ex-Padawan and the Jedi Knight got into another spat. Kan Enik found nothing admirable in Chun-be, except perhaps his persistence in trying to get back on Adriaan's good side, but even his determination could be aggravating at times. All the Padawans ––– except Aedan, who found Darc slightly entertaining ––– wished he would just give up and go away.

But he hadn't gone away, and that made both Kan and Klamin glad, because they had found out that perhaps Darc could be of some use to them, after all. Ever since Kan had known Adriaan, she had been secretive about her childhood, never telling stories about her Apprentice days ––– as Ruru, Kan's old Master, had done ––– always telling them it wasn't their business to know who such and such was, and even more galling was the fact that they weren't even allowed to know her Master's real name. She had once told them her Master had been Netari Ptosoy, but no one had believed her. After she had been attacked by the mystery man on Umbria, Klamin had persuaded Kan that they take it into their own hands to find out who this sith cultist called Haak was, and what part he played in ell Talaan's past.

Kan had given Jordin written instructions to conduct some research on Haak in the Jedi Archives on Coruscant, but after Rez had told them that Jordin wasn't likely to recover, Kan and Klamin had ditched the Archive data idea. They needed Intel fast, and there was only one possible way to get it without going to the Jedi Library: by interrogating Darc Chun-be.

Unfortunately, this was easier said than done; Darc wouldn't so easily fall prey to a simple Jedi mind trick ––– having been trained as a Jedi before ––– and finding an opportune time to carry on an uninterrupted interrogation was next to impossible since they were part of a group of twenty-five. But both Kan and Klamin were watching, waiting for the moment to take Darc aside and ask him a few questions pertaining to his days as a Jedi Padawan.

"Really, Ambassador, someone of your class would find the _starwind_-class pleasure yacht would be more to your taste…"

Adriaan stubbornly shook her head at the principal director and gave her the trademark "what are you, stupid?" look. "Look, ma'am, I'm not prospecting for a luxury yacht that I can use as a status symbol; I just need a ship that's relatively cheap, inconspicuous, and able to protect me against pirates, should they attack. Can I please see your new ship?"

"I assure you, Ambassador, you wouldn't be interested in the least…"

"Mrs. Kuat, I in turn assure you that Queen Naa-ja would be _most _displeased if I returned to Goba Shag without taking a look at some prospective patrol craft we could purchase to build the Royal Navy…anyhow, it will take some time to persuade her to invest in creating an orbital shipyard city; she's old-fashioned, and won't be easily convinced to move her palace from stable ground to a ring suspended in space. You see, she has a very nice residence on Goba Shag, and our planet is healthy and thriving, so she feels it would be a shame if there was a mass exodus from our paradise world as people move up to the orbital city. She knows this has happened to your planet, and though it appears your people are quite well off you can never be certain these new-fangled shipyards will work –––"

"Very well. Come, I will show you." Onara started off down the bay, and the others followed.

"She's a little nervous about showing us the ship," Wolf observed, using the subcutaneous link so the principal director couldn't hear him.

"She's afraid it'll be destroyed. It must mean a lot to the company," Adriaan agreed.

"Well, I have to say, Ree, you certainly nailed Naa-ja's personality," Darc said.

"What do you mean?"

"That's exactly how she would feel about this whole orbital shipyard thing; too modernistic. Too artificial. She doesn't want to turn Goba Shag into an industrial world; our people prefer the clean air, sparse population, and open spaces."

"I agree. Goba Shag has too much natural beauty to be abandoned by the people for an artificial city. Besides, I have a feeling the introduction of a huge orbital satellite such as a shipyard could drastically disrupt the planet's ecosystem. The Kuati chose to leave their paradise world, and have been able to adapt to this city lifestyle. However, I don't think Goba Shag is the same type of planet."

"Yeah. Have you visited it lately? Beautiful; great place for a vacation. People are hospitable, the environment is friendly, et cetera." Darc glanced over at Adriaan and took note of the frown creasing her brow. "Oh, I see, I forgot; you prefer the hostile, cheerless, über-hazardous planets when you want to have a little R and R."

Ammo snorted audibly, and Onara's head jerked in his direction at the sound. Ammo smiled artlessly at the lady and shoved his nose in the crook of his arm, acting out a well-executed sneeze. The principal director carried on as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

"Very funny, Darc," Adriaan said into the link.

"Well, have you been there lately?"

There was a pause that went on a little too long. "No, um, I haven't seen Goba Shag ever since I liberated it. I hear it's thriving, though ––– which probably explains why I haven't been there. We're never deployed to the peaceful worlds that don't have any unsolvable problems."

"Yes, you're correct, Goba Shag is doing great. Government well under way, thanks to the calm and efficient leadership of our Queen. Naa-ja's great, Adriaan. Initially, I wasn't sure she was cut out for the role of a planetary ruler, but she's proved me wrong. She's got guts, a brain, and a heart ––– a very unusual yet very admirable combo."

Adriaan's Padawan recalled that Darc was the commander of the Goba Shag military. "Was Goba Shag the planet you freed from the sith pirates?" Kan inquired of his Master.

"Yeah; believe it or not, the planet is named after us ––– Darc and I and Naa-ja and three others. Goba Shag is Huttese for "six slaves" I, Darc, and the current Queen of Goba Shag ––– Naa-ja ––– were three of the six captives who formed the resistance cell that liberated the entire planet. Okay, look sharp kids," she said, abruptly changing the subject as Onara approached a ship that rested between an ARC-170 prototype and an outdated prisoner transport model.

"This is it?" Adriaan demanded aloud. "I thought it would be separated from the others, noting its value to your company."

"Well, yes, but we thought there would be safety in numbers. Besides, it needs to be marketed somehow if we want to make a profit out of it…"

As the principal director spieled on, Adriaan said into the subcutaneous link, "Actually, that woman isn't entirely brainless for sticking this craft out here with the other ships, as if it's nothing special. The cultists are more likely to notice a ship that's alone in a hangar bay, protected by half of KDY security, and under lock and key, than a ship docked with a hundred other vehicles." She then switched her method of communication to audible words, interrupting the principal director's lengthy explanation. "Yes, well, you don't have to explain it to me. Just tell me what it is."

"A _Firespray_-2 prototype ––– the original six _Firespray_ prototypes were destroyed by a mercenary a few years ago, and Kuat Systems Engineering hasn't manufactured the ships since. So we reworked the design and rereleased it. Despite it's small size, it's heavily fortified and well-armed. It even has a tractor beam projector. The _Firespray-_2 has more space for cargo and passengers, and has more advanced armaments than the original design."

The ship had a simple, functional, yet somehow elegant design. It wasn't a Nubian, that was for sure, but it could bounce back from a drubbing right quick if it had to.

"Well, Nano, you're the engineer here; tell us what you think," Ember said.

"Personally, I'd take it over the Nubian. Never could abide the chromium finish; too high-maintenance, and draws too much attention to itself. Looks like this _Firespray_ could take a good licking."

"But Storm and I bargained really hard to get that Nubian for a good price," Adriaan protested, "didn't we, _vod'ika ––– _little bro?"

"That we did, _ori'vod." _There, now the clones were calling Kan's Master "big sister" And Adriaan was calling them her little brothers. That was just too cute for Kan to take. He was formulating a glib remark when the clone mechanic took away his opportunity to speak.

"Well, ma'am, if we're not really here to buy a ship, are we?" Nano pointed out.

"We need to have an alibi."

"You have the credits, ma'am."

"And someone should have a birthday soon, anyway. By the way, Nano, you can call me _ori'vod…_if you prefer, that is."

There was a brief pause as Nano considered. "I prefer…_ori'vod."_

Adriaan turned to Onara. "Okay, I might buy it…for the right price."

"Five hundred thousand," the principal director said without hesitation.

"I could buy a Personal Luxury Yacht 3000 from SoruSuub Corporation for half that price."

Onara considered. "Well, taking into account your planet's consideration to become the host for a new Kuat Systems Engineering shipyard, I'll give you a discount. Three hundred thousand."

"You'll have to do better than that."

"Name your price."

"Fifty thousand."

The principal director was insulted. "Ambassador, there is a limited production number on these ships, and they have all the latest systems installed. It cost more to make this ship than for what you're asking. The people on Nar Shadaa can sell their old, worn-out crates for one hundred thousand, and customers will think they've struck a good bargain."

"Fine, one hundred and seventy-five thousand; like it or lump it."

"Adriaan, this is Kay," the subcutaneous link chirped. Adriaan, busy haggling with the principal director, gestured at Kan for him to take the call.

"It's Kan. What's up?" he said into the link.

"Tell Adriaan we need her over at the repair bay. Drag and I have found something that I think she needs to see."

"Adriaan's trying to close a deal with Onara Kuat…"

"Just make it quick and come over when you've finished up business, all right?"

"Okay, two hundred thousand. That's a deal," Adriaan said to Onara. She must have been listening to Kay while she had been arguing with the principal director, otherwise she wouldn't have closed the deal so quickly. However, two hundred thousand was a decent price, especially for a top-class patrol transport like this. Kan gazed admiringly at the ship and wished his birthday was the next one coming up.

Adriaan switched to the silent comm mode and addressed her Padawan, "Okay, I just need to finish paying for the ship and I'll come over. It might take some time to find a way to take leave of Onara without seeming rude, so I'm sending a few of the boys over to help you two out."

"No hostile presence, Adriaan. We just need you to look at this."

"Still, trouble could crop up at any given time. Remember that, Kay." She nodded at Onor and Klamin, indicating that they go find Drag and Kay Lee. With so many of them, Onara probably wouldn't notice four people missing from the group. As the Shi'Odo and the soldier slipped away unnoticed, the Jedi Knight and the others filed off to Onara's office to finish the transaction.

* * * * *

"Well, well, 'luggage' has finally decided to take a load off his poor brothers by dragging himself off to do something important for dear _ori'vod," _Cor commented sassily as Adriaan's group walked into the hangar.

"For the last time, Drag doesn't mean I'm a drag; it's short for Dragon," Drag growled.

Adriaan grinned. The squad sniper had always been a bit vain, and he told everyone that the reason he got his name, Drag ––– short for Dragon ––– was because he was as ferocious and devastatingly powerful as one of the said beasts. The ELF Commandos all referred to him as "luggage" because they joked that he was so darn lazy, they always had to "drag" him around. Thus, they explained, he was named Drag. Whatever the reason, the soldier certainly didn't give the appearance of being shiftless. Overdeveloped muscles showed plainly even through his loose civilian clothing. His posture was straight, and he kept his kit neat and tidy. But all his brothers were like that, so maybe he was just lazy by clone trooper standards. However, he challenged all his buddies to wrestling matches whenever the team had time on their hands, and he usually won. One didn't win wrestling matches on a regular basis if one was lazy.

"Didn't know they recruited braindeads to run this shipyard," Cor commented after examining the mind-influenced Sullustan. Isaylor didn't appear to notice the Jedi or the clones at all; she stared straight ahead, swaying slightly, her black eyes defocused. Her appearance was disconcertingly zombie-like.

"What did you do to this poor girl, 'luggage'? You've given her a pretty bad case of the thousand-yard stare," Ammo said.

"It's his face; she must've looked at it for too long," Onor said. It was a rare occurrence for Onor to be wisecracking, for he was the quiet, odd, "middle child" of the squad. He left the witty remarks for Cor, Ammo, and Rez ––– the younger boys. Anyway, the normally pensive soldier's remark caused everyone much mirth.

"Been taking lessons from Rez, Onor old boy?" Lance asked jokingly.

"Just stating the facts; I never joke," Onor said, straight-faced. His serious expression made them laugh all the more.

Adriaan went over to inspect Isaylor, putting her hand on the girl's chin and tilting the Sullustan's face upward as she peered into the round, blank eyes. "Kay Lee, uh, what exactly did you do to her?" the Jedi asked.

Kay Lee looked uncomfortable. "Oh, um, just a bit of mind-rubbing; she was too loyal of an employee to let us in here on a bribe," she explained, stuttering a little and turning bright red in the face. "She's still under the mind-trick I gave her."

Her Master sighed. "Well, let's hope you didn't fry her brain. Seriously, Kay, it looks like you mauled her. Mind-tricks are, well…tricky things. Very delicate operations. Not like herding banthas."

"Sorry, Adriaan."

The Jedi put her hand on Isaylor's head. The Sullustan didn't react. "I'll snap her out of this state after we're done in here. You were a bit rough with her, but she should be all right in a few hours, though I can guarantee she'll have one heck of a hangover for a few days, at least. Okay, back to business." Her hand dropped back down to her side as she turned around and glanced over the bay. "Show me what I need to take a look at."

Kay Lee and Drag had been courteous enough to do Isaylor a kindness by repairing all the damaged ships for her. However, they left the graffiti so Adriaan could get a good look. Adriaan felt their eyes on her as she gazed at the painting of the trooper being mutilated by the sith freaks. She knew they were watching, waiting for a reaction, but she found she didn't know how to react to seeing such a hideous picture. The vandals obviously had an animosity against clones, but the drawing was such a childish, petty red flag that Adriaan found she wasn't exactly angry. So she just nodded, and as a result got several incredulous looks from her companions.

"What should we do with it?" Ember asked. Adriaan appreciated his calmness, but wondered how he could remain unfazed when staring at a death-threat painting that was directed at him and his kind. He was a very sensible man, and so were the other clones. They wouldn't betray disturbance or anger with facial expressions, but she could feel their emotions through the Force, and she knew that they were unperturbed by the graffiti. That was good; it meant that the artist's plan had failed. The painter hadn't demoralized or unnerved them in the least.

Adriaan looked around and remembered passing a supply closet on her way into the bay. She whirled away from the painting and retraced her steps back to the entrance, opening the closet door and finding a can of red paint sitting on the shelf. It was a small bottle of liquid, probably used to touch up the paint jobs of used ships. Adriaan grabbed the can and sprayed the crimson fluid all over the horrible picture. The offensive graffiti having been properly eradicated, the Knight walked back over to Isaylor and wiped her paint and grease-covered hands all over the mechanic's overalls. When Isaylor woke up and saw the stains on her clothing, she would think that she did all the repairs herself.

"Okay, _vode, _let's take one more look around here to make sure we didn't miss anything. Thin out! Onara thinks we're going over to shipyard 20A to pick up that _Firespray_, and I'd like her to stay in her dreamworld, if you don't mind."

"_Firespray_? What happened to the _Firesprite?" _Kay asked.

"Had to give that greedy double-crosser an alibi for coming to this planet, after all. I told her we'd be staying for a few more days so we could get a good idea of what it's like to live in an orbital city before we'd pack up and go back home to Goba Shag, where we will give the Queen a flattering description of Kuat City. Onara was sold on the story."

"You're an old heartbreaker, Ree; think of how crushed Onara will be when she figures out Naa-ja isn't interested in making Goba Shag a base for this predatory company," Darc said with a snicker.

"Yes, well, I rather did play her hopes up a bit, didn't I? Oh, well, can't be helped. Duty comes first, you know."

Kay Lee was still trying to process the fact that they now had two ships instead of one. "Who's going to get the second ship_?" _she demanded. "Because there's no way I'm going to let you own both."

"Well, whose birthday's coming up next?" Adriaan asked, and Kay was about to answer when Wolf suddenly let out a yelp of surprise.

"_Ori'vod! _Come over here, quick!"

"What, another mechanic whose mind has been mercilessly scrambled by Kay Lee, the brain butcher?" Adriaan asked sarcastically, nevertheless striding gravely in the direction of the shout. She found Wolf lying flat on his back underneath an ARC-170, his legs sticking out from underneath the hull as he inspected the works. Ell Talaan grabbed the soldier by the legs and hauled him out. "Whatcha got, _vod'ika?_"

The clone held out his hand, his fist closed tight around something. Jumping to his feet, he grabbed Adriaan's wrist and slapped the object into her open palm. "Didn't know terrorists had to get dolled up to go destroy some ships, ma'am." His words were casual, but his tone was serious. It was a sign that Wolf was worried. Adriaan looked down a little uneasily at the queer object in her palm.

She sucked in her breath sharply. A black stone speckled with silver flecks lay in her hand. It was bound by a silver chain, which uncoiled and spilled through her fingers so that it dangled in the air. The clones and the Padawans crowded around, all fighting to get a peek at the strange necklace Wolf had unearthed.

"Who would leave a necklace lying around in here?" Klamin asked.

"Isaylor," Kay suggested, but Adriaan shook her head. Something was unearthly about this piece of jewelry, surreal in a way that seemed not exotic and foreign to her, but familiar. It seemed to know her, seemed to call to her, somehow…

"Well, whoever it belongs to, we should leave now and, before someone else comes in and see us all loitering in here," Ember said, seemingly unmoved by the beautiful trinket that lay in her palm. The others turned to go, and Kay went over to Isaylor to snap her out of the mind-trick, but Adriaan still didn't move.

"_Ori'vod, _come on," Wolf said, tugging on her arm. "You can look at that all you want back at the hotel, okay? _Ori'vod_?"

"Okay. Coming." Adriaan went through the process of turning around and making her feet follow the others, but her body wouldn't obey. It was becoming increasingly harder to make her legs hold her up, for her eyes to stay open…

"Ma'am, you okay?"

_I'm fine. _Yes, she was perfectly fine; never better in her whole life. So beautiful, the black and silver stone lying in her hand. The silver chain swung between her fingers and shone with an elvish gleam in the harsh artificial lighting of the bay.

"_It's a sith's plaything. Not for you. You don't need this."_

Something about the necklace made her gravitate towards it. She saw ––– almost as if she were watching someone else ––– her empty hand slowly move up to touch the stone to caress it with her finger, to feel its cool smoothness absorb the heat from her skin.

"_Throw it away, Adriaan."_

_ But it's mine. Wolf found it, and he gave it to me. It's pretty. I love it._

_ "Not yours, not yours. Put it back."_

_ Make me._

Her finger stretched out and grazed the pendant. It crackled like electricity and sent a shock radiating from her hand all throughout her body, and the jolt jerked her finger away. Instantaneously, she snapped out of the hypnotic trance she had been in and experienced a sensation comparable to just waking up from a deep sleep.

"Bes, this is Uadjii," the stone said. "You need to get over here now. Something's cropped up and I need you to do me a little favor. Do you have a few minutes?"

Ah. Of course. Not just a pretty necklace; it was a disguised communications device. Force-powered, most likely, which probably explained why it had hypnotized her.

"Bes, do you copy? Respond, _jidsha__._"

Praying that Bes was a female, Adriaan replied, "I copy. Where do you want us to RV?"

"District fifteen. Rock Garden Court, at the White Hat Cafe. Be there twenty minutes from now. Don't be late." Then the link went dead.


	9. Chapter 8: Exploiting The Hero

**Hey guys! Wow, I've not updated for a while. Sorry to keep you all waiting! As you might notice, I've made an adjustment to the chapter layout. Now there will be an opening chapter quote for each section. You can go back to the previous chapters and read the quotes I've now posted, if you like. The reason I did this was…well, it's a complicated explanation, but basically all you have to know is that the quotes are significant. Anyway, please enjoy! **

**Thanks to all my readers for their continued support! Thanks especially to those who reviewed and/or added my stories to their fav lists. _Ori'vor'e!_**

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Chapter 8

_"Calhava bru'chun dralshye'ran!" -- _Mandalorian bomber, moments before his suicide. Translation: _"Compassionate leaders will burn."_

✶ District 15, 1435, 405 days ABG ✶

The Rock Garden Court was a mall adjacent to the KDY employee residential zone. It was in the higher-scale area of the city, and quite close to Onara's private apartments and the KDY offices. The White Hat Cafe was an upscale dining area where all the wealthy Kuati citizens went to. A weird rendezvous point for sith cultists, especially at 1435 in the afternoon, when the Kuati liked to stop by for a short caf break before heading back to work to finish the last couple hours.

"There's safety in a crowd," Ember pointed out. "Keeps you inconspicuous."

Hide in plain sight ––– dangerous, but so impertinently bold that no one would suspect it. That made sense to Kan. Luckily, the terrorist had given them way more than enough time to get there, so the GAR team had a few minutes to outline a rough strategy, because there was no way they were going to plunge headlong into a situation they quite possibly wouldn't be able to get out of.

The members of the group asked questions such as, "Will we all go in, or just Master?" Of course, twenty-five people going in at once looked suspicious, and besides the contact had only called Adriaan. So it made sense that she should go in alone.

On the other hand, none of them had any clue who this Bes ––– whom the contact had mistaken Adriaan for ––– looked like. So unless this was a first encounter, the contact would realize that the Jedi Knight was an impostor the minute she walked through the door. This was a detail Kay had so reasonably pointed out. In the end, they had decided that the best thing to do was to not go in at all, but set up a trap for the cultist to walk into. It was better than running the risk of just walking into the cafe with their fingers crossed, hoping the cultist had never seen the real Bes before.

The White Hat Cafe was a good-sized building planted between a music store and a shop that sold all the latest clothes in girl fashion. The three buildings were situated in a little square surrounded by a mall made up of all different types of stores. In the center of the plaza there was a fountain with a rock garden ringed around it. There was also a bridge over the mall that connected the opposing sides of the plaza, and conveyed pedestrians to the second story of shops.

The viaduct was where Kan was positioned. He leaned over the railing and squinted at the buildings opposite, trying to get a glimpse of Klamin. That was almost impossible, since the Shi'Odo had morphed into an insect, but Kan tried to find him nonetheless. However, he didn't attempt to find Heatrian; he knew that the Pyronite was just one of the countless pebbles in the patterned rock garden surrounding the fountain.

His gaze swept downward as the sound of many children hollering and giggling rose to his ears. A couple with their brood of kids ––– by the Force, that couldn't be Adriaan and Wolf and the Wicked Club posing as the big, productive, happy family, could it? ––– passed noisily under the bridge and paused for a moment to admire the fountain. That is, Adriaan and Wolf ––– a very cute-looking couple ––– sat down on a bench to appreciate the sparkling water, while their "children" amused themselves by throwing pebbles into the basin.

"Careful you don't throw Heatrian in," Adriaan warned, switching to the subcutaneous link. Andre, who had just bent down to pick up one of the larger stones, gave her a "Man-are-you-stupid" look before chucking the rock into the fountain, giggling as the water splashed onto Nic.

Darc, Kay, Marya, and Ammo strolled into the music store, looking very disturbingly like a group date. _Well, I know that Kay wouldn't be the one posing as Darc's girlfriend, so at least Chun-be gets the grouchy one, _Kan reflected. He entertained himself by watching them browse through the selection for a little bit, when a sharp exclamation turned his attention back to the "family" at the fountain.

"Hey, there's WICKED money in here!" Nic said. The boy's dirty-blond noggin was poised just centimeters over the water as he stared down into the depths of the pool. Andre sidled over to his companion, and Kan held his breath, expecting the older boy to shove Nic's face into the water at any second. Nic was certainly doing his best trying to look tempting; he was leaning so far over the edge it seemed as if a mere breeze was all that was required to tip him right in.

"Hey, I WICKEDLY found a credit chip with two dataries on it!" Andre shouted, pointing into the water.

At the sound of the word "credits" Aedan's ears pricked up. "I saw it first," the ten-year-old said, pushing his minions out of the way so he could take a look at the two-cred chip.

"No, you didn't!" Andre cried indignantly.

"Kids, get away from that water! You're getting your new Duracrete Heels jerseys all wet!" Adriaan called in the perfect imitation of a mother's voice.

_Wait a second, how would I know what a mother's voice sounded like? _Kan mused._ I've been at the Jedi Temple my whole life; I have no memory of my parents._

Aedan stuck his hand into the water and pulled out the credit chip. "WICKED!" he yelled triumphantly, waving the money in the air. "I'm going to buy myself my own WICKED ship with this!"

"Aedan, put it back," Adriaan said. "Besides, two creds won't get you a ship; it wouldn't even buy you a decent meal."

"Hey, WICKED Andre, there's plenty more where that came from! There's a whole WICKED pile in there!" Nic yelled, plunging both arms into the water and withdrawing them seconds later, waving the fistfuls of rainbow-colored chips high in the air.

"What GOOD was stupid enough to use a GOOD old fountain as a piggy bank?" Andre chortled, stuffing dripping dataries into his pocket.

"They're donations," Jahn Pal informed them.

"Donations to the WICKED Club!" Aedan declared.

"No, to the mall proprietors. They use the credits to help maintain the overall condition of the plaza. People throw in their dataries to show their support," Sai'wer explained. Everyone was astonished at hearing such big words from the two dumbest Padawans in the Jedi Order.

"Stupid, naïve geniuses," Aedan said, patting the cousins' cheeks with exaggerated care. "It is obvious you know nothing of the real, WICKED world."

"Actually, Aedan, for once they're right," Adriaan said. "Put those credits back; they're not yours."

"Says who?"

"Says your…" Adriaan grimaced, then choked out the last word, "…Mother."

"Then make us, _mom_." The Wicked Club closed their fists tight around the credit chips and didn't budge.

"Man, it's so boring being a plain old rock. Can I be a little kid again?" Heatrian's muffled voice said. A pebble by Adriaan's foot began to vibrate and expand into a pool of orange-red liquid, but Adriaan stomped on it to prevent it from coagulating into Heatrian's proper yet terrifying form. There were too many people in the plaza to allow Heatrian to resume his true shape; the sight of a sentient heap of lava would surely traumatize everyone. There was only one way Heatrian could appear in public, and that was when he had cooled himself down to the proper heat and shaped himself so that he remotely resembled a Weequay hybrid. The problem was, he didn't like being at that temperature, saying it made him feel, "Too sluggish and makes my skin all scaly"

"Make us, _mom, _WICKEDLY make us!" The Wicked Club chanted, turning back to the fountain to continue their plundering.

"Wolf, time to get into character here," Adriaan said through clenched teeth.

"Come, my, uh, sons; get away from the fountain or I'll give in to your mother and let her force you guys to eat vegetables for dessert instead of ice cream," Wolf said, advancing towards the boys, who began to wail and pelt him with pebbles. The clone Captain withstood the barrage and kept grimly marching on, and a few citizens stopped strolling to stare at the spectacle of a father being stoned by his own kids. The phony group date that had gone into the music store came out, laden with flimsi bags that were bulging with music chips.

"I wouldn't make my kids eat vegetables for dessert!" Adriaan cried indignantly. "That's torture!"

Kan leaned over farther to see what would happen next when Kay happened to look up.

"Kan, get into character. People are going to get suspicious of a guy that's just standing in the middle of a bridge and staring at everyone as if he were a stalker," Kay barked into the subcutaneous link.

Kan hastily drew back from the railing and looked around for something else to entertain him. He found a bench that commanded a good view of the plaza and he sat down on it. On the table beside him was a holozine article that had been printed onto a piece of flimsiplast, and he picked it up, scanning the contents idly.

_KNIGHT SLAYER RETAINS TITLE AS THE UNDEFEATED WARRIOR! _The headlines blared. Kan sighed, knowing that what it said was true. Having a bad feeling that he wasn't going to like what he would read next, he nevertheless scanned the beginning of the article. _"Though the Republic has secured more victories than losses, Jedi Officers have been unable to secure a steady foothold in the Outer Rim. It has become clear that General Grievous, the leader of the CIS, is too elusive and resourceful for the Jedi Order to defeat, otherwise ––– authorities say ––– this war would have been over several months ago…_

"What authorities?" Kan snorted. "Let me guess, sports celebrities. What the heck would they know about war? They aren't out there on the battlefront, sweating it out like us. They probably don't even know the butt from the muzzle of a blaster." Still, the article worried him. It seemed undismayed by the fact that General Grievous was launching consecutive, successful campaigns; in fact, the report almost seemed to be gloating over the Jedi's failed attempts to capture the Separatist General.

This article wasn't worth the flimsi it was printed on. Kan crumpled it up and threw it in the trash and settled down with his datapad in his lap, turning to the soothingly monotonous task of trying to crack the code Elsil had given Adriaan at the pool last evening. His Master had offered a brand-new ship as a reward for whomever cracked the code first, and Kan was determined to win a vehicle of his own. He already knew which ship he wanted: the _Firespray, _though Kan had a feeling Adriaan was planning to give it to Kay. After all, Kay was the second oldest in the squad, and she was Adriaan's best friend, besides. But Adriaan could always go back and buy another ship for Kay if she had to.

Kan knew he was no genius, but they had a long wait ahead of them, as they attempted to flush the nexu out of his den. The Padawan was determined that those minutes ––– or hours ––– of waiting would not go to waste.

* * * * *

"He's mighty patient for a non-Jedi," Ammo commented.

"Shut up," Cor growled. He was a naturally restless man, and the three hours of waiting for their contact to come out of the cafe was beginning to wear out his incredibly short temper.

"I'm just saying, sith are supposed to be opposite of Jedi, right? And Jedi are big on the patience thing…"

"Examples, my brother, examples!" Drag scolded in a mock-sage tone. "Where's your evidence? Have you actually _met_ a Jedi with this fabled, limitless amount of forbearance?"

"Heard that!" Kay snapped, though contrary to her tone a grin was spreading wide across her face. Andora ––– her hair done up in pigtails, and looking very unhappy in a schoolgirl jumper as she pretended to do math homework with the priggish expression that was ever-present on her face ––– looked offended. Adriaan just laughed.

"Hey, we've been patient!" Klamin protested. He was sitting on the same bench as Andora, but there was little their veneers had in common. He was disguised as teenager dressed in pants that hung too low and had holes in the knees, while his upper garment was a bulky, ratty-looking black sweatshirt. Perched on top of his head were two hats, both worn backwards and stacked one on top of the other. To complete the look, he sported earphones and had glimmik music blaring from his hand-held music player. "We're still here, so we must have some sort of patience, right?"

They had had to change their disguises every forty-five minutes because they couldn't just sit in the plaza all day ––– it would look strange after a bit. Adriaan and Wolf and the Wicked Club had shed the family act a while ago. Aedan and his crew were browsing through the hologame store ––– under the strict supervision of Wolf, Ammo, Cor, and Drag ––– and the rest had mostly dispersed to the various restaurants in the mall. Ember ––– they had to send a non-Force-sensitive, because the cultist would be able to detect a Jedi's presence in the Force ––– had even dared to go into the White Hat Cafe, and had left half an hour later to report that the cultist was still in there.

"A Kuati, dressed in a dark maroon cloak and wearing a black glove on his left hand," Ember said. "The other hand was bare, and had the black tattoo."

"Was he happy?" Ammo asked.

Ember gave the soldier a pitying look. "Are you seriously asking that question? Of course he wasn't happy! In fact, he looked ready to kill the barista."

"Maybe he had too much caf," Drag commented. "Storm gets like that after his second cup…"

"Shut up!" Storm said. That brought the count of impatient members of the team to two.

"I'm hungry," Klamin whined.

"Then get some food," Adriaan answered.

"But that would be out of character."

One of Cor's fine black eyebrows shot up. "How would it be out of character? Everyone has to eat."

"Yeah, but look at how I'm dressed. I'm a bum; I shouldn't have the money to go into one of those fancy restaurants," Klamin said, indicating his outfit.

"Okay, so you're a rich boy who chooses to dress like a slob."

"What idiot would do that?" Klamin said incredulously.

"That guy," Kay said, indicating a sleazy-looking patron who had just stumbled into a cantina with a Twi'lek woman on his arm.

"Oh." Klamin swallowed, and Kan felt Adriaan tense, as she waited for the inevitable question. "Can I go get something to eat, then?"

Suddenly Adriaan's head whipped back around to the White Hat Cafe, her eyes gleaming catlike in the soft evening light. The next moment, Kan felt the dark side of the Force surge, and he immediately set down the datapad with the code he had studied religiously ––– but with little success ––– during the past three hours or so.

"Hey, why did the constant chatter in my subcutaneous link suddenly switch off? Mind briefing us, _ori'vod?_" Drag asked.

"Get out of the hologame store," Adriaan said tersely. "Everyone out of the stores, _now._"

Kan jumped off the rim of the fountain, which he had been using as a seat, and endeavored to amble casually across the plaza to join his Master. None of the pedestrians gave him any funny looks, so he supposed that he was triumphant in maintaining an undisturbed outward appearance.

Adriaan had changed from being Wolf's wife to a young, single, fashionable young citizen within the past three hours. She was dressed in an ivory, slit-neck top that had an intricate, black flowered design twisting around the bodice; this was accompanied by plain black pants and matching boots. To complete the look, she wore jet-black hoop earrings and the sith communications device ––– disguised as an ebony pendant ––– around her pale neck. If anyone recognized her as the Goba Shag envoy, she could just tell them she was out for her daily evening stroll. In fact, that seemed to be what everyone was doing at this time of day. Most people were done working, and all the kids had finished their homework, so now was the perfect time to take a refreshing walk down to the mall for some dinner and shopping. Kan was sort of glad that the long interval of waiting for the cultist to come out was drawing to a conclusion, but now he wished the man had chosen a later time to leave the cafe. This was the absolute worst time to kidnap someone, someone that was not only a terrorist, but a sith worshipper. Someone with a lightsaber, someone who wouldn't have any scruples about killing innocent people.

Kan perceived the irritating sound of Kay sucking her teeth, a sign that she was extremely displeased with the situation. "Um, Adriaan, you do realize if we apprehend this guy when he comes out, he's not going to come quietly. It would be strategically advantageous for him to make a scene and expose us for what we are."

"Do you think he really knows who we are?" Adriaan asked.

"Well, by this time I bet he knows the person he contacted wasn't Bes."

"Unless he thinks she was apprehended."

"And in that case, he'll be expecting a trap."

There was a brief pause. "Well, it won't help him in the end," Adriaan said finally. There was an ominous note in her voice that made Kan feel a sudden pity for the guy they were about to kidnap. It was twenty-five against one, and only about four members of the group would have any mercy on the poor bad guy. Seriously, he didn't stand a chance.

"ELFs: Defel positions 5, 7, and 12; just like the drill," Adriaan commanded. "Varactyl Clan: Defel positions 2, 3, and 6. Need me to brief you guys again on what those were?"

"No, Master!" the Varactyl Clan chorused. A year ago, Adriaan had implemented her own code-command program with the ELF Commandos. It wasn't until just recently that she had given the Padawans a crash-course on the code-commands.

"Method?" Marya asked.

"Form Zero; claws can be disguised, teeth cannot." Kan wasn't sure that the statement, taken literally, was true, but he did realize that in this case, lightsabers ––– codenamed "teeth" ––– would never work in such a public place. The Force ––– the "claws" of the Jedi ––– on the other hand, could be used if implemented at opportune moments. Of course, Adriaan didn't mean for the Padawans to use Force Lightning on the cultist the moment he stepped out the door, but luckily the Force had diverse abilities.

"Come on, Varactyl, pick your positions; us genetically superior beings are waiting for you mongrels," Drag said saucily.

"Don't get snotty with us; we're superior in rank," Marya boasted.

"Yeah, but how you earned your rank, I'd like to know," Cor grumbled.

"Ah! Do you mean to say I'm an incapable Commander? How dare you! Master, did you hear what Cor said?" Marya whined to the Jedi Knight.

"Marya, did you hear me? I said Command Defel, not monkey-lizard," Adriaan said. "Monkey-lizard" wasn't an official command, but it had become the term used to denote excessive noise and discord among the team after a command had been given.

Adriaan stood up from the bench and began to walk casually in the direction of the cafe. At the last moment, she turned aside from the entrance and slipped into the alleyway that separated the music store from the restaurant. Kan, first checking to make sure all the other positions were covered, followed his Master into the two-meter wide alley and found Adriaan waiting for him. She silently jerked her chin upward, indicating that they would Force-leap up onto the top of the cafe. Kan nodded and gathered the Force in to make the jump.

As one, the two Jedi leaped up into the sky and landed quietly on top of the building. Pressing her body against the roof, Adriaan crept out over the edge of the roof and beckoned for Kan to follow.

"Okay, I sense him underneath. Set it up," she said into the link. Wolf waved from his position on a bench just outside the hologame store and strode across the plaza, his hands shoved in his pockets and his head downcast, as if deep in thought. When he was almost at the door, he turned suddenly ducked under the eaves. Kan leaned farther over the roof, curious to see what the clone would do next, but Adriaan grabbed him by the belt and hauled him back. He gave up and remained content sitting motionless, using the Force to sharpen his hearing.

There wasn't much to hear. They had caught a brief lull in the constant activity. Most of the citizens were eating dinner right now. Kan felt a brief surge of hope. It would be the perfect time ––– for them ––– for the cultist to walk out. The street was nearly deserted.

"He can't stay in there much longer, can he?" Kay asked. "I mean, they have to kick him out sometime, right?"

"Not at a five-star caf bar. Not in Kuat City. They think it rude to hurry customers along," Klamin ––– the expert in galactic citizen life ––– explained. "Many employees from KDY stop here, and the people at the shipyards work hard all day, so during off-time they like to kick things back a little. Take the time to relax, you know?"

The link fell silent again, so Kan returned his focus to listening to the night sounds. He was enjoying the peace and quiet when suddenly a barely audible _thwack _of something metallic hitting the side of the music store nearly made him jump out of his skin.

"Invisi-cable secured," Wolf said into the comlink.

"Thank you Omnipotent GAR Procurement Development!!" Ammo said, mock-pious. "Hey, _Ori'vod, _when the _osik _is this guy going to come out…"

Adriaan and Kan stiffened as they felt the door swing out from beneath them. This was followed by the _clump _of a booted foot hitting the pavement.

"Right about now," Adriaan said.

"Wow, I am _sooo _stuffed from that nerf steak," a woman's voice said.

"I'm not," a male replied. "Say, Hon, why don't we stop by the icecream shoppe and pick up a sundae before we call it a night?"

"But Drew, it's so beautiful out tonight. The moons are all out and in their full. Why don't we take a nice walk instead?" the girl answered.

"Take a romantic stroll in the moonlight instead of going out for _ice cream_?" the man asked, his tone slightly incredulous. "Well, whatever suits you, babe. I could sit in a dumpster and eat garbage all evening, as long as I'm with you."

"Awww, how _romantic,_" Cor jeered, and Kan could picture the disgusted look on the clone's face.

"Shut up," Wolf snapped, but it sounded more like a choke.

"Oh, I love you so much!" the girl said passionately.

"I know," the boy answered. Several male voices guffawed in Kan's ear.

"I'm putting that line down in my memo book…" Drag giggled.

"Soldiers in the Grand Army do not make collections of cheesy romance lines!" Ember roared.

"Ewww, I think they're going to kiss…" Heatrian groaned.

"GROSS!" The Wicked Club shrieked.

"Shut _up!_" Wolf almost screamed.

Adriaan's face had gone chalk-white as she realized they had made a mistake. "False target! Abort! Withdraw launcher!" she said frantically. Wolf sprinted across to disengage the rappel line from the music store wall, and darted back to his position without incident. The couple took a long time, but finally they stepped out onto the street and strolled casually off into the growing darkness.

"Sorry about that, boys," Adriaan said.

Kan frowned, worried. It wasn't like his Master to misjudge Force forecasts, yet she had already made two consecutive bad calls in less than twenty-four hours. She hadn't anticipated Iratus committing suicide, and now this.

_It's just nerves. She's just a little jumpy over that one incident last night with Iratus, that's all._

"It's okay," Wolf answered, re-securing the Invisi-cable. He had instantly relaxed once the couple had left.

"I want ice cream now," Storm said.

"Aw, but it's so _beautiful _tonight. All the moons are out," Ammo crooned, imitating the girl's simpering voice with stunning accuracy. The sound of laughter coming from the comlink was deafening in Kan's ear.

"Okay, you've had your laugh. Shut up, boys. BOYS!" Ember scolded. "Can't you guys take anything seriously? Pack it in already! This is a very serious situation! Don't you understand that?"

"Of course we do, Commander," Fyre said, instantly solemn. "You know we take this seriously."

"The joking around is just our way of letting off steam in an intense situation. Sheesh, Commander, I thought you knew that," Skipp said.

"Shut up," Jahn Pal said.

"Can you gentlemen cease enunciating, 'shut up'?" Andora asked. "It's rather uncouth."

"Okay. Shut _down,_" Sai'wer amended with a giggle. The cousins were being super smart-alecky that day.

_Must be on a major brain surge…_

"Shut DOWN!" Andre, Nic, Heatrian, and Aedan shouted together, then laughed as if they had just said something very clever.

"Cut the _osik, chubas__," _Adriaan said.

"Ooh, Adriaan just said a GOOD word!" Andre said.

Adriaan was about to retort when a piercing scream suddenly shattered the stillness. It was followed by a muffled crash from underneath the roof, as if a bar table had been overturned.

"Adriaan, sitrep!" Kay said. "What's going on?"

People began screaming. More shattering as people hastily rose from their seats and knocked over more chairs, people, and tables as they ran for the door. Someone shrieked "Monster!" Then Kan heard a thunderous roar that rose above the rest.

Kan was just microseconds away from leaping off the building to run in and find out what was going on, but he heard his Master's phlegmatic voice in his mind. _Stay calm. Pack it in. It's okay, Kan. Just stay where you are._

"Master, what's going on?" Kan asked her out loud. He turned to look at her, and noticed that all the blood had drained away from her face. Yet her jaw was set, as if she were forcing herself to stay put.

"Adriaan, I'm going in," Kay said.

"Me, too," Klamin agreed.

"No!" Adriaan snapped, her voice cracking. "It's just a trap!"

_What's wrong with her? Can't she hear the screaming?_

"Master, I have a really bad feeling about this…"

"I didn't say it was okay in there, I just said to stay put!"

"But…"

"This isn't our fight, Kay. This isn't about being a hero. This is about the welfare of the Republic!" Adriaan said. "If you go charging in there, lightsaber held aloft, you will compromise all of us, and these terrorists will just continue destroying this planet from within. So do us all a favor by STAYING IN POSITION!"

Kan's legs tensed to make the jump, the adrenaline was flooding his system, and everything in his being told him to run inside and slay the dragon and be everyone's hero. But his Master was right there, and she was sending Force messages into his brain that were commanding him to do otherwise. His Jedi instincts told him to fight, but his Padawan instincts ––– his will to obey ––– made him hesitate. He placed his hands on the roof and allowed his fingers curl tightly around one of the bars. A sense of comfort washed over him at the touch of the chilly metal dowel gripped between his fists, and he slowly felt himself relaxing.

"Good job, _vode_. Oops, and a wicked job to the Wicked Club, too," Adriaan said, relaxing a little. "Now, I think it's time to adjust our tactics. If this is the game this guy wants to play, then I say let's give him some…"

Just then, her speech was interrupted by a wail that was piercingly and utterly familiar.

It was the unmistakeable scream of a baby.

* * * * *

"Master! We've got to go inside!" Kan shrieked.

Wolf was staring at the entrance to the cafe, his ears disbelieving. _Oh, Fierfek, no; not this again. Not again, no…_

"Stay put!" Adriaan shouted, but it sounded more like a choke.

"Adriaan! That's a _baby! _I'm not going to sit on my rear-end and allow it to get killed!" Kan shouted. Then he sprang down from the building and prepared to charge into the cafe.

"Commander, no! It's a trick! Commander Kan!" Wolf yelled, running toward the Padawan to stop him. But it was too late. Kan raced inside the restaurant and the doors banged shut behind him.

"Halt, in the name of the…Holy fierfek –––" Kan's indignant shout was cut off by a piercingly yell, which was shortly followed by the soft _thwack _of a body being slammed against a wall.

"That's it. I don't kriffing care if I never come out alive, but I'm going in!" Kay Lee broke cover and charged in after Kan. The other Apprentices, encouraged by the sight of their two leaders dashing into peril, rose as one and ran for the doors.

Adriaan leaped off the top of the roof and landed in front of the entrance, blocking the Padawans from entering. Klamin, the Padawan in the front, skidded to a stop just inches from his Master. "What are you doing?" he yelled. "Do you _want _Kay and Kan to be killed in there?"

"Keep a curb on your ignorant tongue!" Adriaan snapped. "You obviously have no comprehension of what is going on here."

"Adriaan, people are dying…"

"And more will die today if you charge into there without a solid strategy, which I assume you haven't had time to make yet. Am I correct?" She nodded, smiling grimly at the hangdog looks her Apprentices gave her. "That's what I thought."

"We don't have time to make strategies," Marya remarked sullenly.

"Haven't you ever heard of SOPs?" Adriaan asked. She raised an eyebrow when they all shook their heads. "Come on, guys, don't tell me you haven't heard of Standard Operating Procedures before."

"You never explained," Heatrian complained.

"Maybe I did, but you just weren't listening!" Adriaan barked. "The name is self-explanatory; even Jahn Pal and Sai'wer could figure it out, given the time. SOPs are the rules you fall back on when you're in a situation where you don't know what to do."

"We don't know what the SOPs are, though," Klamin protested.

"Well, I'll tell you what we're going to do. We're going to –––" Adriaan was suddenly cut off by a scream that was undoubtedly Kay Lee's. At the sound of her Padawan's distress, the Jedi Knight's head swiveled around, her gaze riveting on the cafe, and the connate inclination to protect her Apprentice automatically overrode her line of logical thought.

"_Ori'vod, _no! Don't!" Wolf screamed as Adriaan Force-pushed the door inward and ran inside.

"Wolf, take it easy, she's all right. She's…" Ember's voice seemed to be coming from far away. Wolf's vision seemed to cloud as the adrenaline pumped through his system and propelled him towards the battle area. Kuat City seemed to fade away, and suddenly he found himself back on Kamino, three and a half years previous.

_"War isn't about being a hero; war is about winning," his instructor told him. "If you want to be the good guy, get your _shebs _out of here, because good guys don't belong in the GAR."_

_ "If we're not good guys, why are we fighting bad guys, then?" Wolf asked._

_ The instructor ––– a veteran of the Mandalorian Civil War; a Lieutenant called Ganlir Kyram, whose name meant "death trap" in Mando'a ––– turned towards him, his eyes bloodshot. "Because," he said, pausing for effect, "because in war, being merciful or playing the hero is viewed as a weakness, a weakness that will be found out and exploited by the enemy. You have to play their own dirty little games to beat them."_

_ Wolf found he didn't quite understand, and said so. Lieutenant Ganlir just grinned and ruffled the boy's hair so hard that it made Wolf's scalp burn. It felt as if Ganlir were trying to pound nails into his skull. "You'll see," he said. Wolf didn't like the sound in the officer's voice, and briefly wondered if the Lieutenant was drunk. He often was._

_ This was to be Wolf's third simulated battle, and for some reason, he felt confident. Confident in his own abilities. He was also excited because Pi ––– his best friend ––– was on the opposing team, so now they would be pitted against each other, their abilities put to the ultimate test. Brother against brother. It would be a highly educational experience, helping both of the soldiers to realize their fortes and deficiencies. And they were just firing blanks; it wasn't as if it was really shooting each other. They were too young to be put in a live fire situation._

_ But something about Lieutenant Kyram's smile gave Wolf a very bad feeling about it._

_ "What's the plan, sir?" Wolf asked when the teams split up to form strategies. _

_ "Ambush," Ganlir Kyram 'death trap' replied, handing Wolf a datatape and a recorder to play it with. _

_ Wolf stared at the datatape incredulously. "What's this?" he asked._

_ "The bait," the instructor replied. "Go camp out in sector 5 and play the tape. That'll draw them in."_

_ Wolf didn't really understand how playing a datatape would draw the enemy in, but he had to do as he was told. _

Yep, he's definitely drunk, _he thought with a wry grin._

_ It was an urban warfare simulation; therefore, Wolf trekked to sector 5 to discover that it was an alleyway with a dead end. He positioned himself with his back to the wall, checked to make sure his deece had the safety switched off, and scanned the perimeter with his HUD. Nope. No bad guys around here. Wolf tapped into his link. "In position, sir."_

_ "Have you turned on the tape yet?"_

_ "No, sir."_

_ "Good boy. Don't turn it on until I give the signal, all right?"_

_ "Right, Lieutenant."_

_ He sat in that alley for an entire hour, every particle of his being screaming to get out and be in the action, to create an outlet for his epinephrine. But Lieutenant Ganlir told him to stay put, and to go against his CO's orders meant a very harsh punishment. It was pure torment listening in to his link, because his brothers were giving a play-by-play report of the whole situation, so he ended up switching off his comlink after about five minutes into the battle. It was horrible being able to hear but not see or participate in the fight. He kept his communications device open, however, so that when the signal from Ganlir came, he would be ready._

_ Finally, his comm device signaled. "Okay, we've wiped out everyone except a couple of guys. There's one approaching your sector. Switch on the datatape," Lieutenant Kyram said, then cut the communication. Wolf sighed. Only a couple of guys left? What a cruddy simulation. He had done nothing except sit in an alley for a whole hour. _

_ He looked at the datatape a little uneasily, wondering if this was some sort of trap Ganlir had set him up for. Perhaps the tape was really a bomb, and would blow off his face the moment he pressed the play button._

But I'm on his team. He wouldn't do that, would he? Besides, this is a blank-fire sim. No lethal weapons allowed.

_He crossed his fingers and pressed the play button._

…

_He yelped and leaped away from the device, training his rifle on it, as if it were some sort of ferocious beast. The datatape indifferently continued to wail. _

What an obnoxious sound. _He thought with a grimace. _What kind of animal would make such a spine-chilling din? _Suddenly Wolf realized what the clamor was. It was the sound of a crying baby._

Lieutenant Ganlir Kyram gave me a datatape with a recording of a _baby_? _It seemed ludicrous, but there was the scream again. There was no mistaking it this time. Wolf had been ordered to play a datatape of a crying child. _

Something weird is going on here…

His heart pounding in time to his footsteps, Wolf charged into the White Hat Cafe. Suddenly he skidded to a stop and dove to the side, yelling "Cover!" Just as a gigantic claw swiped the place where he had just been.

_I sure hope no one was directly behind me…_

The Padawans and the clones barreled in as one unit, then scattered in all different directions as the unguis came around for another pass.

"Status, Wolf!" Ember barked crisply.

"Rancor," Wolf replied as his HUD zoomed in for a good look at the beast's massive, ugly head. "And boy, is he an ugly one."

Ember swore under his breath. "How the kriff did they smuggle a rancor in here? It's not as if someone could've concealed it in their tunic pocket or something."

"Where's the Jedi?" Cor asked. "Wolf, do you see them?"

"No," Wolf said, his voice shaking. The room was a mess; blood, gore, dismembered limbs, ripped apart bodies, smashed tables, glasses and mugs that had been ground into powder, broken dishes, overturned stools, upholstered booths ripped apart with the stuffing floating chaotically in the air ––– the whole place was a disaster. The trapped and panicked survivors running heedlessly back and forth through the rubble made it much worse. To top it all, the lights had been killed, so the whole place was pitch-black. Luckily, the clones had all brought along their helmets ––– which were equipped with night-vision ––– just in case something like this happened.

Suddenly the rancor shimmered and melted before Wolf's eyes. The soldier blinked, but the monster was gone. "Uh, Ember…"

"Shavit kid, your six!" Wolf threw himself to the floor in response to the Commander's warning and felt the _whoosh _of air overhead as a claw swiped at where his head used to be. He rolled to the side, and the claws punctured the ground where he had been seconds before. Hurdling to his feet, he blasted at the repulsive face rearing up in front of him. The creature roared and reeled back, shimmering and fading away once again.

"What thekriff is this thing?" Marya screamed. Jahn Pal and Sai'wer clung to her, whimpering with alarm.

"It's WICKED!" the Wicked Club shrieked with a mixture of admiration and stark terror.

A black, liquified blob on the floor oozed toward the Wicked Club and began to solidify into another frightening shape. Wide-eyed and petrified, the boys could only stand rooted to the spot as the former puddle materialized into a nexu.

"Say something!" Andre whispered, shoving Aedan in the ribs.

"Yeah, that is, if you're WICKED enough!" Nic goaded.

"Uh, hey there, little WICKED kitty," Aedan began timidly, but that was as far as he got. The ferocious, catlike beast snarled and snapped its jaws at him, causing him to shrink back with a startled yelp.

"Hey, no one growls at my WICKED King like that!" Heatrian cried indignantly, jumping in front of his leader. His raised fists began to melt and glow a bright, fiery orange-red in an easily recognizable offensive stance, lava-being style.

The nexu snarled and bared its teeth, as if daring Heatrian to strike first. The Pyronite was undaunted.

"Yeah, bring it on, dull teeth," Heatrian challenged. The animal suddenly grinned, and its body collapsed into a pool which shimmered and turned from black to hot-red. Heatrian's face turned the color of obsidian ––– the Pyronite equivalent of turning chalky-faced ––– as the thing morphed into a mirror image of the Pyronite Padawan.

"Pa-pa-pyronite?!?!" Heatrian gasped.

The faux-Pyronite grinned wickedly. "Time to take on a species of your own caliber, eh, hot-boy?" It taunted.

Lava spouted from Heatrian's head, and steam literally spilled out from his ears. No one called him "hot-boy" without suffering the consequences. With a cry of rage, the young lava-being charged toward his opponent.

"Heatrian, wait! That's not a real Pyronite!" Klamin yelled as Heatrian's fist sunk into the fake Pyronite's face. "That's a shapeshifter!"

"Lava-skin or shapeshifting-skin, he dies the same!" Heatrian screamed recklessly. He grabbed his antagonist by the neck and was about to stomp him into the ground, when the being slipped from his mighty grasp and reassembled into a Terellian jango jumper, withdrawing a strange, clunky weapon. The jango jumper took aim at Heatrian and fired. The lava-being screamed and covered his head as he was showered by his nemesis: water.

"GOOD! That's totally cheating!" Heatrian shrieked. The changeling moved slowly forward, directing a steady, constant stream of liquid at the Padawan. The water hissed and turned to steam as it came in contact with his ultra-hot body, but it was obvious that it was causing a lot of pain to the Pyronite. He howled in agony and collapsed to the ground, writhing in pain as the water continued to pour on top of him. "He's shooting me with a negaqua! I'll die if he keeps this up! Help!"

As the remaining members of the Varactyl Clan rushed forward to save their companion, the clones took the opportunity of the shapeshifter's momentary distraction to move forward and conduct a thorough search of the area. The whole place was trashed; someone had broken nearly all the windows in the place, but the people were still too scared to think properly, so no one was taking advantage of the open windows to escape.

"Help! We're all going to die!" A man shrieked. Somewhere in the gloom, a baby's voice continued to howl. Men and women of all ages and species screamed and whimpered and groaned and cried. Ember ventured a step farther into the chaos, his hands on his hips,

"Man, these people are idiots," he commented.

"Almost not worth saving," Storm agreed, and Wolf was glad that none of the Jedi had heard that remark. They would have been scandalized.

"People, settle down! We've got the monster occupied! Go for the windows!" Cor yelled. The people continued to scream and run around in random paths throughout the wreckage. Fed up, Cor reached into the throng and pulled out a tall, thin man by the ear, shaking him roughly. "Come on, man! Having a heart attack won't save your life! Get a hold of yourself and take a look around!"

The man stared with a vacant, dead expression at Cor, and the clone realized too late that he was wearing his GAR clone helmet. "Guh-guh-guh-guh…" the man stuttered.

"Fierfek," Cor said irritably, hefting his gun and shoving it against the man's temple. The Kuati continued to stammer, and didn't seem in any condition to recognize Cor as a GAR soldier, or even remember that he had seen the clone Lieutenant once this crisis was over.

"Check, Lieutenant," Ember said firmly yet gently, and the gung-ho soldier shrugged and removed his gun from the man's head. The citizen instantly went limp and slid to the floor in a dead faint.

"Moron," Cor muttered. "We risk our necks every kriffing day to save these people's lives, only to have them die another day. What good is there in that?"

"We're doing more than just saving these imbeciles' lives," Wolf said, shoving his way through the roiling crowd, his HUD scanning the area for any sign of the missing Jedi. "We're fighting for peace and justice, for the greater good, for the next generation ––– our children and other people's children ––– and for love."

It just so happened that when he uttered the word "love" that his gaze fastened on a faint shimmer of gold glimmering in the darkness. Stepping forward, he was soon able to discern blond hair scattered across the floor.

"Gen ––– _Ori'vod_! _Alor ori'vod_!" Wolf shouted, running forward. He crouched down next to the Jedi General, anxiously inspecting her for injuries as he gently lifted her up by the arms. Suddenly her muscles tensed, and she resisted against his pull. Wolf abruptly released her, surprised to see that she was conscious. "_Vod_, are you hurt? _K'oyacyi, ori'vod. _Let me…"

"Fine," Adriaan said tersely. She got heavily to her feet, and the clone saw that she was weighed down by another body. He sucked in his breath as he recognized the rose-gold hair that spilled out and dangled from Adriaan's arms, like a sheet of copper which glittered faintly in the gloom. "Kay. She was…mauled by the Rancor. I don't think she's going to live."

Wolf opened his mouth to reassure his Jedi General that everything was going to be okay, but as he looked down at Kay, he found that there were no words of comfort to give Adriaan. The Padawan didn't have much chance, even with the Force on her side.

"Right. We'll take her out of here and move her to a secure location so Vyto can see the full extent of her injuries," Wolf said finally. He reached, took a firm grip on the unconscious Apprentice, and began to lift her from Adriaan's arms. The Jedi Knight at first stubbornly resisted, then seemed to comprehend Wolf was only trying to help her, and relinquished Kay.

"I'll take good care of her," the soldier said, marveling at the ease with which he lifted Kay Lee's limp weight. He supposed wearing armor and lugging heavy kit nearly twenty-four-seven helped with his muscle development. He paused for a moment, distressed to see the woman he loved looking so sorrowful. Wolf contemplated, decided a good hard slap on the back wasn't out of order, and executed the action. Adriaan's glazed, defocused gaze shattered like frail glass as she was propelled up onto her toes by the force of the blow. A little chagrined at having underestimated the power he put behind the slap, the clone squeezed the girl's arm briefly to convey his sympathy, and darted away, instantly embarrassed. Emotion was out of order in a tight situation such as this. Wolf had to be more careful about how he acted around her.

"Ember, two out of three secured!" Wolf shouted. The shapeshifter had removed itself from the Wicked Club and was lurking somewhere in the shadows, waiting for another chance to strike. Wolf, hoping the next target wasn't him, waved over at Vyto and Onor to cover him while he brought Kay Lee out of the cafe.

"Rain's looking for Kan!" Wolf hollered in answer to Ember's silent question. Ember gave him a hand signal to show that he understood. Then their Commander issued out their next orders.

"ELFs and Varactyls need to get together and form the mob into a cohesive unit of resistance!" he rapped out. "Padawans, I don't know about Force powers per se, but if you could influence these people's minds and nudge them in the direction of the nearest available exit, I would be greatly obliged."

"Varactyl Clan! We have to work together!" Marya yelled, playing the part of Commander, since Kay and Kan ––– the Alpha Padawans of the Clan ––– were both currently unavailable. "Call on the Force on my mark!"

The Padawans moved around, encircling the mob and pushing dissidents back into the throng. Marya stretched out her arms, and her lips began to form into the shape that would help her utter the sound, "go" when a horrifying creature suddenly burst forth from the shadows. Marya whipped around and nearly blew their cover then by activating her lightsaber, but she caught herself in time and dove for the floor. The animal snarled and cleaved through empty air, landing with a heavy thud behind the fallen Apprentice.

"_Hukaat_!" Ember yelled, giving the code-command for 'cover' "Go go go!" The ELF Commandos charged forward, blasters spouting fire. The beast roared with pain as the first couple of blasts hit its body, but then it shimmered and morphed into a krayt dragon, whose hard scales easily repelled the shots. Ember put up his gun as a signal to cease fire, for they didn't want any blasts to ricochet off the dragon and hit one of the civilians instead. The beast roared and tauntingly pawed the ground with its massive claws.

"Move out!" Ember called over his shoulder to Wolf. "Get the girl out of this place and alert security!"

Wolf nodded, standing protectively in front of his brothers as they dragged Kay Lee out the door. When they finally made it back out onto the street, Vyto and Onor eased the Padawan onto her back for a brief inspection.

"We have to get back to the hotel!" Wolf barked. "We can't treat her out on the street!"

"Leave those decisions to the squad medic!" Vyto snapped, losing his cool for once. Onor was his usual quiet self ––– he never interfered in squabbles if he could help it.

"Fine. What's the damage?" Wolf asked. He hated yelling at Vyto ––– who was possibly the kindest person in the entire group ––– but he couldn't help it. He was simply itching to get back inside, to help out his brothers and his friends. Onor and Vyto didn't appear to have the same problem as Wolf did, but he knew that they felt the same.

_This is what Rez must feel like every single kriffing day. Man, poor kid, I thought he had the easy deal, getting a break from the fighting, to catch some R and R on Triple Zero. He's probably having the hardest time of all. _

Vyto gingerly parted the robes that clung to Kay Lee's limp form and sucked in his breath sharply. "Oh, fierfek, this is bad. I treated a patient who had it this way."

"So I'm sure you patched him up okay, right?" Onor asked.

"No. The man's dead," Vyto stated flatly. "Didn't even last an hour."

"But Kay Lee's made of sterner stuff," Wolf said hopefully. "She's a Jedi, so she might make it."

Vyto shrugged his helmet off, his eyes bloodshot yet focused as he gave Wolf a weary stare. "Was Kay Lee specially bred to be the best?" he asked. "Was she genetically altered to become a perfect soldier? The man I treated was; he was a clone, trained from day one to be a utopian unit. If he didn't make it, what makes you think she will? Having a Force connection has nothing to do with it."

Wolf, crushed, bowed his head.

"Isn't there anything we can do?" Onor asked earnestly.

Vyto suddenly looked troubled. "It's, um…well, I think she has pneumothorax."

"She's not coughing, and she's unconscious, so she can't tell us if she's feeling pain in her chest, back, or arms," Wolf argued.

"Here. Listen."

Wolf slid off his helmet and bent down. As the Padawan inhaled, a horrible sucking sound emanated from the cavity in her chest as air flowed through the hole. This was accompanied by a percussive flopping noise resounding from within her chest.

"That abnormal thumping is from the punctured lung, and the whistling sound you hear is a clear indication of a sucking chest wound, a type of pneumothorax."

"So is there anything we can do?" Wolf demanded.

"Wolf, I have no idea how long she's been injured like this. Ten minutes, at least. This wound is severe enough to kill a victim in minutes." Vyto took a strip of flexible plastoid from his utility belt and taped it across the hole, leaving one side open as a flutter valve, to allow for exhalation. He stowed the plastoid back in his belt and sat back on his heels, staring intently at the patient. The one lung still seemed to be deflated. After a moment, Vyto cautiously reached out and touched Kay's neck, which appeared to be quite swollen. When his finger pressed onto her skin, a startling crackling noise that sounded as if someone was crumpling up a flimsi wrapper caused the clone to jerk back with a sharp Mando'a curse. Onor, who had been watching the street, whirled at the sound.

"What was that?" he asked.

"Subcutaneous emphysema," Vyto said tersely. "The presence of gas in a subcutaneous layer of the skin. That's a very bad sign. We were too late to give her occlusive dressing, so it's already developed into tension pneumothorax."

Wolf swallowed. That was not good news. Tension pneumothorax was a deterioration from a sucking chest wound, caused by air becoming trapped in the pleural cavity between the chest wall and the lung, resulting in a buildup of air which prevented the damaged lung from inflating.

"Is there anything else we can do?" he asked miserably. _I can't fail Adriaan; she's counting on me. We have to save Kay Lee, for her sake._

"If you mean doing a needle thoracostomy…and I mean you, Wolf, because I'm going to need time to sterilize the chest tube that we'll insert when the pressure in the pleural cavity is relieved, and this girl doesn't have the time. Do you remember the compulsory thoracostomy seminar we took on Kamino?"

Wolf remembered all right, every grisly detail of it. He could perform an emergency medical procedure as well as the next clone, but there was a reason why he wasn't a medic by profession. He even admitted it to himself; he was squeamish about sticking needles into people. "Get me a three point two-five fourteen gauge bore cannula and I'll do your dirty work, doctor," he said through clenched teeth.

Vyto nodded in approval and handed over the cannula, which he had already gotten out. Then he unslung his flight bag and began rummaging through it, laying a white sheet on the ground and carefully placing the surgical instruments onto it as he found them.

Onor turned back to the cafe; he neither wanted nor needed to observe the surgical procedure Wolf was about to perform. The clone edged closer to Kay Lee and paused, his brow furrowing in concentration as he went through the whole process in his mind, just to be sure he remembered. It was quite simple, really; all he had to do was insert the cannula into the second intercostal space on the mid-clavicular line. This he found without much trouble. Locating the space between the second and third ribs, he inhaled, squeezing his eyes shut. When his lungs felt like they were going to burst, his eyes snapped open and he let his breath out in a rush. Simultaneously, he pressed the needle into the pleural cavity, and was relieved to hear a colossal blast as the air quickly rushed out of the cavity. "Pressure relieved," he said tersely. Vyto nodded and gestured impatiently for Wolf to move out of the way. The soldier backed off, relieved that he had executed the thoracostomy successfully, and watched as the medic got out the chest tube and began preparations for the insertion.

"Onor, take Vyto's helmet and put anything that could possibly identify us as GAR members into your flight bag," Wolf said as Vyto cleaned the area where the insertion would take place. As Captain, he outranked both Onor and Vyto; therefore, he was the acting CO. "I also need you to stay here to provide Vyto cover while he performs the operation. I'll go find someone to alert security, and then return to the cafe to help our brothers out. Whatever you do, don't leave Kay or Vyto stranded out on the street. Understood?"

"Yes, Captain!" Onor said with a salute.

Wolf looked around and spotted a group of people approaching the mall. With a last parting glance at his companions, the clone sprinted off down the street like a mynock out of a space slug's belly.

* * *

Adriaan crawled through the ash and the glass and the gore, her dirt-caked face streaked with tears, sweat, and blood. Somewhere in the gloom, she heard masculine, relatively calm voices issuing out crisp orders, and solid boots grinding the shards of mugs, glasses, and tables into powder as they marched back and forth through the building.

_That's my boys, _she thought with tearful approval, _nothing daunts them._

She wished she could have said the same for the Kuati citizens. At first, they had all rushed for the exit, but after the shapeshifter had thrown the first escapee against a wall, breaking the man's spine, the crowd had been resigned to their fate of dying like trapped animals. That hadn't prevented them from mass panic, though. Instead of calming down and trying to figure out a way of escaping through cool, logical reasoning, they had been content to run aimlessly about, some flying right into the arms of the sith shapeshifter, who then dealt the victims with a horrifying yet swift demise. Adriaan had tried to organize the survivors into some sort of fighting force, but after she had found Kay Lee, everything else had seemed to black out.

She hadn't seen Kay Lee fall; she had discovered the Padawan on the floor, half-buried by the wreckage and trampled on by the mob. If Wolf hadn't found Adriaan and had compelled her to get up, she would have still been lying on the floor, traumatized by the sight of her mortally injured Apprentice.

Tears suddenly pricked her eyes as she recalled the pitiful scene of her best friend, sprawled in the dirt, her chest saturated with blood…Adriaan nearly stopped and had a heart attack then and there, but she struggled and eventually regained control of herself. _No, don't lose it now. You can sob hysterically later…if there is a later._

She wiped the tears from her face and forced herself to focus. She wasn't quite sure what her first priority should be; to kill the shapeshifter or to find her missing Padawan, Kan. It sounded as if the Varactyl Clan and the ELFs had united to take down the elusive and destructive changeling. Adriaan lifted her head and watched as Marya Yon utilized the Koré form to knock the shapeshifter ––– who was currently in krayt-form ––– off-balance. One advantage of Koré was that it could be used with or without a lightsaber; since they were in a public area, Marya wouldn't use her Jedi weapon unless she was in great peril. Since she was fighting the changeling unarmed, Adriaan knew that the Zabrak had the situation well under control. Marya was a calm, calculating student; she never took needless risks. Anyway, she had all the ELFs and Padawans coming in and delivering well-placed hits of their own, so they definitely didn't need their Master's help.

_They're growing up. They'll make fine young men and women someday. If only Kay could get the same chance…_

_ "You're forgetting about Kan. Focus!" _her mental commanding officer barked at her.

"Got it! Awwww…you've got to be freaking kidding me!" Marya shouted in triumph as she felled the great beast, only to cry out in dismay as the shapeshifter morphed into a rancor, the injures that the GAR members had inflicted upon it disappearing into his monstrous form. With a scream of pure frustration, Marya leaped onto the massive head and sank her shoto lightsabers deep into its head. Unfortunately, the rancor's thick hide absorbed most of the blow, decreasing the potency so that the lightsaber was the equivalent of a painful sting. Enraged, the beast grabbed the Padawan in one massive claw and prepared to swallow her whole.

"Take three, topside!" Ember yelled. The ELFs adjusted their arc of fire so that they were aiming for the beady, piglike eyes that were nearly enveloped by the thick, hard skin on the creature's skull. "Bring it down! Bring it DOWN!" the Commander of the ELFs shouted encouragingly. Inspired into a berserker rage, the Wicked Club rushed forward with bloodcurdling yells and began to hack at the creature's legs, narrowly skirting the flailing, massive feet which constantly attempted to trample them into Jedi jam. The shapeshifter was too maddened to morph into a small creature and retreat from the attack; this was its last fight. With a scream, it threw the Zabrak Padawan hard against the floor, which she screamlessly hit with a soft _thwack. _Klamin jumped onto monster's back and plunged his lightsaber into its spine. The rancor flailed, desperately trying to get the Shi'Odo off its back, and then suddenly fell backwards onto the floor in an attempt to squash Klamin. However, the Jedi shapeshifter got off in time and morphed into another, much smaller rancor. Rancor-Klamin then savagely ensued in a clawing fight with the other creature. Heatrian finally stepped in to mercifully deliver the final blow: encompassing the rancor's entire leg with his lava-hot body. The sickening odor of burning cartilage permeated the air, and this was shortly followed by the horrible, dying shriek of the beast. Adriaan rolled against the wall and braced herself for the jarring impact of the rancor's death fall.

The monster fell just two centimeters short of where the Jedi lay, and half the ceiling collapsed overhead, nearly burying her alive. When the dust cleared, Adriaan sat up painfully and did a quick status check. Slowly, eighteen companions stood. She breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn't seen Wolf, Onor, or Vyto during the fight, but knowing Ember, they had probably been sent to alert security and take care of Kay Lee. All accounted for, then. Except for…

_"Master."_

_ Kan. _Adriaan began to run through the rubble, ignoring the screaming and groaning of the survivors she trampled underfoot. _Where are you?_

_ "Master."_

_ Kan, what happened? Where are you? Are you all right?_

_ "Rancor."_

_ What? _Her heart leaped to her throat as realization hit her with the force of a wild punch to the temple. Pushing down her panic, she ran to the dead shapeshifter, who hadn't changed back to his original form in death, which was an unusual occurrence. Adriaan shuffled around the enormous body, trying to locate her Padawan underneath.

_Holy fierfek, if that monster fell right on top of him, he might be squashed to a pulp…_She dispelled such thoughts from her mind and attempted to contact Kan again. _Where are you?_

_ "Rancor."_

She came to a stop and stared at the rancor corpse, her vision of the monster distorted by the tears that began to well up in her eyes. She couldn't find Kan short of picking up the brute and moving it, and if she did that, any survivors would immediately identify her as a Jedi. But she didn't have another choice; that shapeshifter wasn't going to be any help by morphing into a more sizable cadaver. Glaring at the rancor, she lifted her hand and envisioned suspending the body in midair.

_"But rancors weigh nearly fourteen tons!" she remembered complaining, back when she had been ten years old._

_ "How many times do I have to tell you?! Size and mass are irrelevant!" Jacen screamed back._

Her outstretched hand suddenly dropped as a great weight bore down on it. Adriaan struggled, the veins in her arm popping with the effort, then triumphantly raised her arm up high. She heard more debris rain down to the ground, and she opened her eyes to see the body held in place about one meter off the ground. Hoping everyone was too occupied with their own troubles to notice a floating rancor corpse, Adriaan hurried forward and inspected the place where the monster had lain.

_"Master…"_

She suddenly spied a tuft of dark hair, coated with white dust, protruding from the rubble. Darting forward, she quickly dug away at the debris until she unearthed the rest of Kan's head. The Padawan snorted, spurting gray powder from his nose, and coughed painfully.

_He's alive, _Adriaan thought thankfully, dragging her Apprentice from his tomb and letting go of her Force-hold on the rancor, carefully setting its great girth back in its resting place. She lay her Padawan flat on the floor and began to anxiously inspect him for injuries. He didn't seem to be in too much pain, but he had his arms hugged across his chest, as if he were covering a wound. She gently tried to pry his arms away from his torso, but without much success. There was no blood on him, but that didn't mean anything. He could very well have an internal injury. Just then she noticed that he had a bundle of dirty gray blanket wedged between his chest and arms. As she attempted to extract the package, Kan groaned and shifted, his gray eyes blinking open.

"Wha –––"

"Don't move. You're going to be fine kid, okay?"

"Ruru."

Adriaan paused, a pain cutting through her heart. No matter how hard she tried, no matter how much she loved him, Kan always defaulted to calling on his dead Master to help him when he was injured.

_"Just give it up, girl. There's no way he's ever going to forget Ruru. You just have to live with being second-best in Kan's heart. Be thankful that you're first in the clones' hearts, Adriaan."_

_ How can I even be sure of that? Nothing is certain._

_ "Love is certain," _her imagined Commander said firmly.

"It's Adriaan, Kan. Master Xelan is dead," Adriaan said wearily, and forced herself to accept the fact that she wasn't loved best. She tried again to remove the bundle, but Kan clutched it only tighter. His rain-colored eyes fixed on her, his expression unfathomable. Adriaan began to panic. Did he even recognize her?

"Ruru," Kan repeated, his voice hoarse from sediment that had collected in his throat.

"I'm not Ruru; it's Adriaan. Remember? I took you as my Apprentice after Geonosis." Adriaan suddenly lost her patience and raised her voice. "What's wrong with you? Don't you even recognize your own Master?"

"No…" Kan paused and coughed huskily, spitting out a wet, grayish paste. "I mean, I'm fine, Master…" he continued, his voice much clearer.

"Adriaan," she prompted.

He waved his hand impatiently. "I know! I'm not stupid! How could I ever forget who you are?"

"Then why did you call me Ruru? And what are you holding?"

"Sorry, I was having a hard time speaking; had some debris clogged in my throat. What I meant to say was Ruru would have wanted me to save the baby."

Personally, Adriaan's first impulse had been to rush in and save the baby, too, but she had held back for good reason. Rushing in without a plan wouldn't have helped anyone; what had happened to Kay was evidence of that. But it still didn't make it seem right. Kan's statement hurt her more than he knew. "Kan, it was a trap. But it's all right now. We'll go back to the hotel, where you can lie down…"

"I _am_ lying down, and I'm not sick," Kan said, the old fire sparking again in his eyes. _That's my boy; no matter how hard he falls, he always has the strength to get back up. Bet no one else's Apprentices have such resilience… "_I don't care if it was a trap. I don't care if –––"

"If Kay Lee dies because of your rashness?" Adriaan finished abruptly.

Kan didn't appear to understand. Perhaps he hadn't seen Kay Lee come in. "Don't joke with me; I'm serious," he said, suddenly very stern. "I realize my actions were foolhardy, and warranting punishment, but I'm willing to accept the consequences ––– even if the punishment is being kicked out of the Jedi Order ––– for it's a small price to pay for saving…this." Then he opened his arms and revealed the precious cargo he had been carrying.

Adriaan stared in open shock. It was a baby.

And not just any infant survivor of a massacre, she soon realized. Inky black wisps of hair topped the smooth, round head. Dark brown eyes stared out from the angry, wrinkled face. The noble, angular features were nearly nonexistent in the round, chubby physiognomy, but Adriaan saw and recognized the telltale Grecian nose, the high cheekbones; the strong, chiseled brow; and the dark, beautiful skin she had long admired and wished for.

It was a baby clone trooper.

"If I had followed your orders, this infant would have been mauled to death," Kan said disapprovingly, as if he somehow held her accountable for the disaster that had just taken place. The baby itself glowered reproachfully at her, its cupid-bow lips puckered into a pout that was staggeringly reminiscent to Ember's admonitory scowl. Adriaan gazed with fascination at the infant, too busy noticing its similarities to her adopted brothers to worry about more important aspects of its existence, such as the inevitable question: how in the universe did a clone baby get here? For now, she was content to admire, and be scowled at with open contempt in return.

_So this is what Wolf must have looked like when he was a baby, _she thought. An unexpected and impossible desire suddenly welled up in her heart, something she had never even dreamed of before, because it was altogether unlikely and impractical…

_I want to have a baby. One or many, boy or girl; it doesn't matter. I just want to know what it's like ––– the trials, pains, the joys ––– of carrying a child within me, giving birth to it, rearing it, watching it grow…_She was immediately ashamed of herself for even thinking of it.

"_For shame, Adriaan! You swore an oath to the Jedi and to the GAR; you sold your life into service. It's not your life anymore; it's not yours to live as you choose. You have a duty to your Padawans and to the clones. You don't have time to indulge in petty whims and selfish ambitions. Having children is a blessing, surely, but the gift of birthing and raising your own children is not for you. Kids need a stable environment to be reared in, and they also need a father. To have kids and raise them properly, you would need to give up this life and find yourself a husband, and who would dare to marry you?"_

Adriaan was really beginning to dislike her fictitious Commander.

"Kan, can I hold him?" she heard herself asking. Weird thing to say when one found a baby clone outside Kamino, but that had been her first impulse upon seeing the tiny, helpless infant. It was an innate desire, she supposed, to want to hold a little baby, to make a big fuss over it, to admire it.

Kan's arms tightened around the child. "You wanted him dead," he said accusingly.

"Kan, I never said –––"

"It's what you meant."

"Kan, do you seriously believe I would intentionally harm this little baby? Besides, you're injured."

"I won't drop him." The Padawan struggled to a standing position, but fell back, catching himself on a wall. The baby was definitely contributing to the effort of keeping Kan down. Adriaan hauled Kan's free arm across her shoulder and reached out to take the child, and this time encountered little resistance, either from exhaustion or trust, she didn't know. At least he had handed the kid over before he had dropped it or something.

Klamin nimbly crossed over to where Marya lay and checked her vitals. He gave the other Padawans a big thumbs up, indicating that she was all right, and Andora and a few Wicked Club members rushed forward to help a very dazed and pained Marya up. The other clones and Padawans began to wander the area, searching for survivors. Ember, looking around, spotted Adriaan across the space and waved over Drag and Fyre to assist her. The two clones ran to her and lifted Kan off Adriaan, carrying him away to be attended to by the squad medic. Wolf, Onor, and Vyto still hadn't returned. _They're busy tending to Kay, _Adriaan reassured herself. Readjusting the baby so that she had a firm grip on him, she began to pick her way through the rubble.

_What's this baby doing here? Does Kan know it's a clone baby? Probably not; you know how much he hates clones, because of their resemblance to Jango. But perhaps the baby doesn't remind him of Jango. Perhaps this baby isn't a clone. Maybe it's a blood relative of Fett's; maybe even Jango's son or nephew or something. But why Kuat? Who was taking care of him before Kan found him? Are they still alive? What is this baby doing here?_

The questions circulated continually throughout Adriaan's mind, questions whose answers Adriaan didn't know, nor knew a way of finding them out. It was frustrating. The baby seemed to drag her down, become more burdensome, with each step that she took.

_I didn't fight; how come I'm so exhausted? I shouldn't be tired. I should be more enduring. Have I neglected my physical conditioning for too long? What's wrong with me? Why is this baby too great of a weight for me to carry? Why, he must not even weigh four kilos; am I so weak that I can't even bear such a trifling weight?_

Bent over double, Adriaan was now tempted to crawl through the ruins, so heavy had the baby become. She took a step forward, and her shin came in contact with the baby's dangling foot.

_ What long legs this infant has…man, this kid needs to take a few hectograms off. Maybe I should stick that foot back in the blanket. Wait, how come the blanket is so small? How old is this kid anyway? Not a newborn; too heavy. Toddler, at least. Maybe five years old. But I could have sworn it was a newborn…_

A bead of sweat dripped onto her nose, and she tilted her head to rub the residue onto her sleeve. As she did so, her nose happened to brush against the baby's shoulder, and she was astonished to discover how brawny and muscular the kid was. _Newborns don't have muscles like that. In fact, I've never seen a kid with muscles that large. What kind of child is this…_

The baby snuggled its head in the hollow between her neck and her chest that seemed designed just for that purpose. The feathery hair tickled against her chin as she staggered forward, and remembering that babies were supposed to smell like elysium, she inhaled deeply…

And gagged as the odor of rotten meat, grease, and ash went up her nose. _Okay, maybe this baby doesn't smell so sweet. Gotta give this kid a bath when we get back…_

Smelly or not, the kid was still cute, nestled against her collarbone, rubbing its head against her skin. It didn't seem to hate her anymore. Sighing contentedly, the baby turned its face against her neck.

And Adriaan screamed bloody murder as it took the skin on her collarbone between its teeth and chomped down. Hard.

_We want your life, your spirit, your energy, your blood. Die. _The evil voices swirled in her mind, took hold of her, strangled her with their somber, abysmal words of darkness and death. _We hatesss you. Yesss, we doesss. No one lovesss you except thossse who are insssane._

Her arms suddenly lost their feeling, and they fell down to her sides. The child was dropped from her arms, but it did not fall. It stood. _Grow up. You all grow up so fast. And I am stuck in the abyss of time, neither aging nor growing in wisdom. I remember that riddle Rez always used to tell. On four legs in the morning, two legs in the afternoon, three legs at night. That's how fast we live. That's how fast we age and die. That's how fast we humans grow, and you boys were cursed with half that time._

Her chest grew wet, stained red, dripping down her tunic, down her arm. _We've got no time. This is all we have. All we have is the time we've got together. No time. No time to decide what to do with the time given to us._

The child burgeoned, its cherubic face melting like wax. The baby ––– no, the _thing –––_ rose ever higher, reshaping, evolving into some mutant, horrible creature with pale, greedy hands and fangs dripping venom and blood.

_Vampire. Vampire. Everybody wants me, but nobody loves me. What kind of creature am I, to be wanted but not to be loved? Haak wants me, but hates me; my Padawans need me, but do not love me; the clones want me, but can't love. Vampire wants me, wants my life energy, wants the ichor that flows through my body. The tainted blood in my veins ––– it draws evil close, like insects around a syrup jar. They glut themselves on it, and drown in their greed. They cannot have me. My spirit is unbroken. I am the Anti-Chosen One, but I refuse to be so. I am not the Anti-Chosen One, but the universe refuses it to be so. _

The gray shroud that hung over the universe rolled back, revealing the stars in the infinite night. Adriaan tilted back her head and defied the heavens. _Whomever was responsible for my existence, I hope you're happy now! _She yelled into the sky. _I have no one to call mother, but some woman brought me into this world. What kind of person was she, to hand me over to strangers, so that I could be slowly eaten alive by Haak's malice and greed, so that I could watch my Master ––– my adopted father ––– slowly die? She went through all the pain of giving birth to me, and then she let me go, as if I wasn't worth it.. Am I a waste of time to everyone? Except for those people who laid the galaxy before my feet and worshipped me as the bane of the Jedi and the universe's balance, and then tried to kill me when I refused their dark, empty burdens that they dared to call gifts? _

_ There's no one here to save me. If not even those who sired me couldn't bear to stick by my side, how can someone completely free from allegiance to me by either blood or friendship save me now? I die by a child's bite; how the fools and sages will laugh to hear of it! I suppose I shouldn't deprive them of their enjoyment…_

The vampire shot up to the sky and melted back into nothingness, the atoms swirling and joining to form a new, hideous form. So the child wasn't really a child, after all. Just another shapeshifter taking advantage of the good guy's intrinsic instinct to save innocents from harm. It was just an assassin that knew the Jedi mentality too well. _Well, dying by shapeshifter won't be as bad, I guess…_

The creature rose and rose, growing like a poisonous weed, sprouting horns and sinewy muscles and wicked, sharp claws and teeth. Eventually, Adriaan's sick, dying brain was able to identify the image as a Vrblther. Of course the changeling would choose that shape, the shape of a creature that would evoke memories that were best forgotten. Unwelcome, the memories surged forth, uninhibited by the venom that slowed the rest of her body down.

_"Go! Go! Are you done yet? My grandma could've done twice that much in half the time!" Jacen screamed, cracking his laser whip._

Then your grandma must have been a bodybuilder. _She groaned and screamed with the effort, sweating blood to crank out the last of the set of chinups. Her muscles bulged and her veins popped, and her chin jerked up and touched the bar, nearly causing her a seizure. _

_ "Done!" she gasped, and would have dropped down right then, had she not remembered what lurked below._

_ "Not fast enough! Give me fifty more, and make it faster this time!" her Master shouted._

_ "Ungh." She tried swinging to give herself some momentum, her eyes squeezed shut, sweat pouring off her body. Her arms slowly brought her closer to the bar. Suddenly a long, clawed hand shot out of the darkness and grabbed her ankle, yanking her back down. She yelled and thrashed, trying to get the Vrblther's grip off her, but it held firmly. A set of pale yellow teeth shone in the gloom and, slowly, her ankle was edged toward the great maw._

_ "Master! Help!" she yelled as she was pulled closer towards the Vrblther's waiting jaws._

_ "What was all your training for, if you can't handle a single Vrblther? Seriously, Ree, you have to do better than that!"_

The shapeshifter grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her close, its rancid, foul breath puffing against her skin. It smelled of decay, of death. She struggled feebly in its grasp, but its arms tightened around her in a death grip. Slowly, it bent its head over her neck, poised for the kill. Its hand rested on her chest, and her heart pounded against the thick, cruel palm that tried to suppress it. Her faded gaze focused on the two bright red eyes that loomed over her, and as she gazed into the two greedy orbs, her entire life flashed before her eyes. There were many things she saw that she wished she could forget, and few things she felt she could be proud of.

_If only I had one more chance. If only I had the time left to make up for all the evil I've done. If only I…_

_Thump-ump. Thump-ump. Thump-ump. _There was a drummer boy in her chest, beating out the rhythm of her life. The Vrblther leaned in close, pushing its hand hard against her breast. A hand seemed to reach into the core of her being and wrench her heart out, squeeze it to death, choke it. _Thump-ump. Thump-ump. _The drummer boy tapped it out heroically, but the staccato rhythm began to fail as he suffocated in the Force grip. _Thump. Ump. Thump. Ump. Thuh. Uhp. Thuh. Uhp. _

She fell back in her killer's arms, exposing her white, soft neck to the savagery of the beast. Suddenly a gray form leaped over her, and her contact with the Vrblther was broken. A horrid shriek filled the silence, trailing up to a pitch unbearable to hear by human ears. Strong arms gathered her in again, and she found herself staring up into eyes that were no longer red, but dark brown.

_Thuh._

_ Uhp._

_ Thuh._

_ Uh._

_ Thuh._

_ Uh._

Then the drumming in her chest abruptly ended, and she knew no more.


	10. Chapter 9: Rez Finds his Cyar'ika

**Hello, all! Hope everyone is having an awesome weekend! As for me, I am sore all over from tae kwon do sparring practice and sporting a broken big toe. Don't ask me how I got it, because I don't know. Anyway, I digress...**

**For those who are not yet Mando'a-savvy, I will explain (through Ember) what _cyar'ika _means in a later chapter.**

**I was thinking about this as I was editing this chapter: there are a few themes I alluded to in this section. Primarily, my own reflections about joining the Army are mirrored in the conversation between Rez and Synta (who Synta is, you will soon see) Also, 'Knight in Shining Armor' is a recurring phrase which pops up in several places. The last theme I can think of is strength in weakness. Both Eris Akura and Jordin demonstrate this at some point in this chapter. Okay, I'll stop explaining now and just let you guys read it.**

**Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own _Star Wars._**

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Chapter 9

_"Greatest strength is found in what the arrogant call weakness." - _Ruru Xelan

✶ GAR Barracks, Coruscant, 400 days ABG ✶

_After a hearty lunch at the greasiest dive in town, Rez decided that a nice walk through the city would help his meal settle. Besides, that had been what Eris had told him to do; and after that filling, nutrient-deficient meal, the clone felt up to a little exercise. _

_ Coco Town was in one of the nicer areas of Coruscant, so it was very pleasant walking through the district. For the first two minutes, however, Rez felt terribly self-conscious in his trim green armor. He even put his helmet back on because he felt it offered him some sort of protection from the funny looks the passersby gave him. For a moment, he actually debated on flagging down a taxi to take him straight to the barracks; but after he passed by a couple of stores and feasted his eyes on the whimsical, peculiar, and utterly useless thingumabobs the shop windows shamelessly displayed, he forgot about himself as he immersed himself into the outlandishly alien culture of galactic citizens._

_ After observing the animals sold at _Pets' "N" Pieces _and wasting fifteen minutes wondering what being in his sane mind would be attracted to the store by its advertisement, which read, _"Rare, dangerous, poisonous, mean, threatening wildlife a speciality. SARLACC SPORES JUST IN!" _he made his way down to the seedier levels of the planet city, where things would be a bit more exciting. Down there, the stores sold things more to Rez's taste: illegally procured weapons, armor, stolen swoops, and food which wasn't approved by the Intergalactic Health Federation. He soon made his choice and stepped into a store which sold unusual weapons. _

_ Now here was a shop which actually sold stuff that was useful. After much reflection, Rez finally selected and purchased a set of Taikaido shokas__, martial arts weapons which looked like the offspring of an axe and a curved vibrosword. The weapons fit snugly on his utility belt and seemed almost weightless; however, they were extremely lethal, able to cut through a six-centimeter-thick block of durasteel in one strike._

_ With the shokas strapped to each side of his belt, Rez strode confidently into a shop which sold cakes and bought himself two dozen cheffa pastries, and didn't even care when the cashier gave him a weird look as he shoved six of the cakes into his mouth as he counted out the change. He was getting used to safe, mundane civvie life by now. He was even confident enough to wave to the little kids as they stopped running through the streets to stare at him in his clone camo armor._

_ It was getting to be around dinnertime when he decided it was time to head to the barracks. He was about to turn around, but his gaze suddenly zeroed in on a music store wedged between a tea shop and a noodle stand at the end of the street. One thing he and his brothers had always wanted was a couple of music chips, so they could listen to something during boring hyperspace flights and extractions and the like. Stuffing the last cake into his mouth, Rez ran into the store and eagerly browsed through the selection. Soon, he picked up a chip which had Aubade music on it. The artist was a young teenage girl called Sheen Tay. Rez quickly put the chip back down when he noticed the name of the album. _My Knight in Shining Armor and Other Fairytale Songs. _Definitely not for him. One music band caught his eye. _The Rancor Rollers. _ Their album labels sounded more virile, so he selected a music chip entitled, _"Killing Spree" _and purchased it. Then he left the store and began to make his way to the train station, thinking it would be much more entertaining to take the speeder train, which had passengers he could look at. Even if everyone in his cab was just a bunch of cantankerous geriatrics, it would be much more interesting than being all alone in a taxi with a gripy old Ugnaught pilot who probably got his license from the Drunken Mynock School of Driving Instruction__. _

_ As he was waiting for the train to arrive at the station, he noticed a bright-colored thing amongst the nondescript, achromatic-colored crowd. It was a woman not much older than Rez's biological age, and even he ––– a soldier who was inexperienced in civilian life ––– could tell that she wasn't where she belonged. Most beings in the area were dressed in drab, plain-colored clothing, because the darker colors helped them to blend in with the equally washed-out landscape. Bright clothing in the underlevels attracted the notice of petty thieves, pirates, and cutthroats. Besides, the plain, coarse cloth was cheap, and wouldn't get ruined by the grime and soot that was ever present in the lower levels of the city world. But this girl was garbed in a soft sheath of shimmersilk that changed from pastel yellow to rose as the light moved across her. Pale pink jewels sparkled at her throat and dangled from her ears. Across her shoulders was thrown a diaphanous, coruscating, silver-gray cloak. Worst of all, her rose-pink shoes had heels at least eight centimeters high. Such long heels would make it nigh impossible for her to run, let alone walk, though Rez supposed the shoes could exact some serious damage to an attacker if push came to shove. Then again, she looked too timid to smash someone's face in with her high heels. Rez shook his head and tutted in disapproval, watching her shrink back and cower as a group of rowdy Weequay jostled past her. _

_ She appeared completely lost. Her dress and manner was of one who had been well brought up; and the way her head was turning about ––– as if she were searching for something familiar ––– was the well-known look of someone who was in an unacquainted area. Rez, driven by a strange impulse, stood up and approached the girl._

_ "Ma'am?"_

_ The girl, her back turned to Rez, didn't appear to hear him. Distracted, she took a few uncertain steps toward the tea shop. Rez cleared his throat a bit awkwardly and tapped her arm. "Ma'am!" She spun around, her green eyes wide with fear. "Are you all right?"_

_ The lady let out a small cry and attempted to dash away, but the clone reached out and restrained her gently. "_Udesii, cyar'ika. Udesii._"_

_ "What do you want?" she asked, her blush red lips trembling._

_ "Are you lost?" he asked politely. _

_ "What's it to you if I am? I've got nothing you want," the girl struggled to break free, her face chalk-white in stark terror. She was scared, but she hadn't lost all her wits, Rez noted with satisfaction. _She's a stouthearted one. Very good. _"Please let me go," she said. Rez marveled at how she could be so polite yet so commanding at the same time._

_ "I don't want anything from you. Just making sure you didn't need help," he reassured her. _

_ She stopped struggling for a moment to stare at him. As he looked into her emerald irises, he saw a ghostly image of his T-visor mirrored in her wide eyes. _Fierfek, I forgot I was wearing my helmet. No wonder she's freaked, _he thought, popping the seal of his helmet and sliding it off, breathing in fresh evening air that wasn't filtered through his T-visor. Upon seeing his face, the girl relaxed a little. A helmetless head was much less intimidating, apparently. Rez filed that fact away in his brain in case he happened to face a similar incident again._

_ "You can't help me," she muttered. "Unless you can beat up my kriffing dinko of a boyfriend who just ditched me out in the middle of this fierfeked district with no idea where home is or the means of getting to it."_

_ Rez had a billion of questions to ask her, primarily what had caused the man to get mad at such a beautiful woman and leave her out in this hellhole, but he remembered what Adriaan had told him about earning people's trust. _"Do much and say little" _was what the soldier policy was when it came to assisting a person, so he refrained from prying into her personal matters. "Well, if it's a ride home that you need, I can get you a taxi, and you can give the pilot your address."_

_ She looked at him in surprise. "You…you would seriously do that? For a complete stranger?"_

_ "Of course. And as for being strangers, I was hoping we could correct that. ELF Commando Rez of Ade Verda Brigade of the Grand Army of the Republic, at your service," Rez said, extending his hand. The girl gaped at his proffered hand and timidly took it into her own slender fingers. _

_ "You're a…a soldier?" she stammered._

_ "Yes, ma'am," Rez said, wondering if the girl knew that he was a clone, and looked exactly like the millions of other soldiers in the Grand Army. _

_ "Cool! I've never seen a Republic soldier without his helmet off before," she said, her mood brightening as curiosity made her forget her own troubles. "Have you been granted a couple days of leave on Coruscant?"_

_ "Sort of," Rez said. "I had to escort an injured officer to a medical facility, so I'm stuck here until she recovers."_

_ "She?" the girl looked surprised. "You mean to say there's a _woman_ in the Grand Army?"_

_ "Many women, actually. Mostly Jedi, though," Rez said. He wondered why she seemed so astonished about there being females in lofty military positions. He almost asked her, but he remembered that assisting a person did not entail exchanging life stories. So the clone dug into his pocket and produced a credit chip, picking up the absent-minded girl's arm and slapping the dataries into it. "Here. This should get you to where you need to be."_

_ She looked down at the credit chip in her hand, apparently still astonished at his generosity. Perhaps small favors, such as paying for a taxi ride home, just wasn't done in the Galactic Republic. "I'll pay you back, of course," the girl said. "Thank you."_

_ "You can repay me now by simply telling me whom I have the pleasure of rescuing." Learning the girl's name wasn't against military protocol, he reassured himself. The clone gave the girl a gracious artless grin. His irresistibly charming smile seemed to do the trick, for the girl immediately seemed to relax, her suspicions dispelled. _

_ "Synta Milite__," she said._

_ "Synta Milite," he repeated, savoring the sweet, melodic flow of her name, "shall I escort you to a taxi checkpoint?"_

_ He offered his arm to her, and Synta gingerly took it. As they casually ambled over to the taxi dropoff, Rez took the opportunity to observe the girl at close range. He didn't know if she was drop dead gorgeous or plain hideous by galactic standards; all he knew was that he found her to be lovely. Her hair wasn't quite as dark as his, nor was it quite as red as Jordin's. Auburn, he supposed, was the correct term. Her eyes were an odd but gorgeous amber color, and her skin was a few shades lighter than his, and dusted across her snub nose and high cheekbones was a constellation of cocoa-colored freckles._

_ Rez hailed down a taxi for Synta and graciously helped her in, just as he had been drilled to do. His heart heavy as he realized he would probably never see her again, he turned to go._

_ "Wait, Commander!" Synta called. The soldier's heart leaped to his throat with unexpected hope._

_ "Yes, ma'am?"_

_ "Could you please…come with me?" She asked hurriedly, her face glowing bright red with embarrassment. "That is, if it's no trouble. You've been very kind."_

_ Rez understood what she was trying to say. "Of course, ma'am," he said, jumping into the seat beside her as the taxi took off. _

_ Little did he know that that half hour in the taxi was to be the best moments of his life…_

_ "Kyr ge'kaan! _Endex!"

The group of clones slowed to a stop, sheathing their knives and bracing their hands on their knees as they gasped for breath. Rez, however, was still chock-full of energy; this was the first time in a while that he had had such an arduous workout. Of course, he exercised every day, but it was harder to have the motivation to push your body to its limits when you were working out all by yourself. So the clone ––– who had just recently been informed that he and his squad had been promoted to Enforcing Front Line Commandos ––– found relief in working out with the Captain of the 501st and his batch of plastic boys.

Rez counted himself extremely lucky that Torrent Company had been stationed on Triple Zero at the same time as he was, for that GAR contingent was led by a clone trooper whom he considered to be his role model. Captain Rex wasn't particularly unique from other clone brothers; sure, he had dyed his hair a hideous bleach-blond color, and got to wear a pauldron and kama ––– articles of kit reserved for ARC troopers ––– but really, he wasn't much different from his clone counterparts, other than the fact that his Jedi General was one of the most decorated officers in the GAR. Anakin Skywalker was something of a savior to both the Grand Army and the Jedi Order; and because Rex served under the Jedi celebrity, everyone got to hear of the clone Captain's heroic deeds. The reason Rez honored Rex above other clones was because Torrent Company's leader had been awarded jaig eyes, which was a sigil of honor bestowed to clone troopers who had distinguished themselves in combat, and basically one of the only medals of honor a clone soldier could earn in the GAR. Rez was working towards earning some jaig eyes of his own, but until then, Rex was his icon.

Meeting Captain Rex had only increased Rez's respect for the 501st's leader. Rex had been extremely courteous to Rez, calling him "sir" although technically the Captain outranked the ELF Commando, who was not an active commanding officer of any contingent. It was also Rex, out of all the clones, who had not poked fun at Rez's designation as an ELF trooper. Rez had to agree that the name ELF Commando deserved to be made fun of, but he appreciated Rex's tactfulness about the matter.

The clone Captain ––– who was more resilient than the regular troops ––– straightened, wiping the sweat from his brow. Pumped full of adrenaline, the younger clone sprinted down the last couple of meters and vaulted right over Rex, stimulating shouts of amazement from the other soldiers.

"Whoa, how'd you do that?" a soldier asked.

Rez, grateful now for the specialized training program Adriaan had drilled his squad with, shrugged and casually replied, "My trainer's a Jedi. She teaches me how to do all those flashy Jedi moves."

Actually, there was no Jedi-business about the move Adriaan had taught him; leaping over people was simply a matter of getting one's hands on the guy's shoulders and using the pectoral girdle as leverage to vault oneself over him at the right moment, but Rez was too lazy to explain that to the others. Besides, Rez would be much more imposing if they thought he had used a Force-trick to jump over Rex.

"So you must be a Padawan. Didn't know clones were being admitted into the Jedi Order," Rex said with a wink.

"Yeah, any slots available? I wanna be a Jedi, too!" a clone called Barbeque piped up. The other soldiers grinned and guffawed. It was all just light banter, really; they knew Rez was just messing with them.

"I'll have to check and see," Rez said with a grin. "I might be able to get you guys a couple of private lessons with a certain relative of General Obi-Wan Kenobi's. He's just a Padawan, but he's your type of Jedi: vain, deficient, whiny, unattractive, and really stupid."

A chorus of snickers greeted this remark, and Rez savored the felicity he had caused. _Music to my ears, _he thought.

Rex was studying him thoughtfully, rubbing the blond fuzz of hair that crowned his head. His bleach-blond fluff looked nice and downy and tempting to pet, but Rez controlled the impulse. There was no possible way Rez could touch Rex's hair without looking very, very strange. "Maybe _you _could teach us some 'flashy Jedi moves' in exchange for learning some five oh first tricks?" the Captain suggested.

Rez pretended to consider, while wondering if Rex's offer was half-serious or not. "It'd have to be one _haran _of a trick for it to be a fair exchange," he answered, folding his arms across his chest.

Rex grinned a bit smugly. "You just wait and see, sir. I learned it from a Republic Commando. Some weird sort of Mando tradition, so I doubt you've learned it. Only the clones trained by Mandalorian warriors were taught it. Ever heard of the _Dha Werda Verda?_"

Rez shook his head. "No. Isn't that a Mando'a name? My Jedi officer's taught me a few words in that language, but I don't know enough to translate anything, not even _Vode An, _which Jango taught to all us clones. What does it mean?"

"Roughly translated, it means 'The Rage of the Shadow Warriors'. Unless your Jedi officer was raised as a Mando, there's no way she would know about the_ Dha Werda. _This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for you to learn it, unless you would prefer to go around fraternizing with the Mandalorian Death Watch ––– those suicidal, Separatist choobie-kissers."

Rez was intrigued, though he was careful not to show it. "You've got a deal," he said.

The next half hour went by in a blur. The _Dha Werda Verda _appeared to be a war dance of some sort, accompanied by a chant in Mando'a. Rex went through the moves step by step until the ELF Commando had a fairly good grasp of the dance, then the Captain had all the clones in the gym line up.

"Remember, you start by hammering the rhythm upon your own armor, and then you turn to beat the tempo on the plates of the man next to you. That man would be me," Rex said, turning to Rez. "Ready?"

Rez's brow furrowed as he tried to remember the correct response in Mando'a. "_Elek ––– _yeah," he said.

"Let's go!" Rex shouted, and then he initiated the first move of the dance with a shout. "_Taung!"_

"_Taung!" _the soldiers repeated, and then they all began to hammer on their chest plates, chanting out the words to the song.

"_Taung sa rang broka Mando'ade ka'rta!_

_ Dha Werda Verda a'den tratu –––_

Rez twisted and aimed a backfist into Rex's backplate, but realized a tad too late that he was out of synchronization as Rex's fist suddenly smashed into his nose. The clone jerked back his head, tears stinging his eyes and something wet trickling through his nostrils and leaving a metallic taste on his lips. As his head whipped back around, he saw a brief apologetic look flash across Rex's face. The clone Captain hadn't meant to hurt him; all injuries collected while performing the Mandalorian dance were the fault of the injured person, not the man who actually hit him. Rex had warned him about this aspect of the _Dha Werda. _The moves ––– which were nearly all punches ––– were impossible to hold in check, so to make a minor error in timing could potentially cause an injury, such as a broken nose. To prevent bruises from forming on account of the multiple hits to the body, all the clones were wearing armor, though they left their faces unprotected. Only total wimps wore helmets when performing the Rage of the Shadow Warriors.

_Manda'yaim kandosii adu!_

_ Duum motir ca'tra nau tracinya_

_ Gra'tua cuun hett su dralshy'a!_

He staggered, ducked as he nearly got hit again, then struggled to catch up with the others before another mishap occurred. From the corner of his eye, he saw the Captain nod in approval, and felt his chest swell with pride. _Sure, I messed up and got hit, but I've shown my quality by not backing out to take care of the injury. I guess that's what this whole _Dha Werda Verda _thing is about; not timing, but tenacity. _

_ Kom'rk tsad droten troch nyn ures adenn!_

_ Dha Werda Verda a'den tratu,_

_ Manda'yaim kandosii adu._

_ Duum motir ca'tra nau tracinya._

_ Gra'tua cuun hett su dralshy'a!_

"Whooh!" Rez hollered, jumping into Rex so that their chest plates clashed with a sharp _clack. _Normally, troopers opted for wearing their light fatigues while drilling, but it was good practice to work out in full gear. Rez was glad he had thought to bring his full kit along; the thought of the bruises he would have collected had he not worn any protection while performing the _Dha Werda Verda _made him cringe.

"How in the world did you end up being named Rez? You should have been christened 'whacko'" Rex said, catching himself before he was knocked flat by the adrenaline-hyped ELF Commando.

"Or 'Redneck'" Barbeque suggested.

"Or 'Jumper'" a clone called Merri said, no doubt recalling how Rez had leaped right over the five oh first's captain.

"If I was his mommy, I would have named him 'stupid' just to be safe," a soldier nicknamed Pep piped up.

"Wiseguys. You're all just full of hot air; all helmet, no brain," Rez said, making a show of throwing a towel over his shoulders and walking out of the gym. As he put his hand on the door, he was suddenly hauled off his feet as a couple of guys grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him to turn around and face them.

"Remember the deal, fairy-boy," Merri said, his artless grin somehow coming across as menacing.

"It's ELF, not fairy," Rez said through clenched teeth. _Curse whoever came up with that name. I bet it was Cor…_

A clone called Batter snickered and pointed at Rez's camo armor. "Oh yeah, how could we have mistaken you for a fairy? That green camo is definitely elvish, though I guess if we just added wings we could pass you off as a sprite…"

"Okay boys, leave the poor kid alone. After all, he's a Commando. Show some respect," Rex said, elbowing his way through the crowd. "Batter, get your meaty paws off him. What're you trying to do, kill him?"

Batter released Rez from his powerful grip, and the ELF Commando rubbed his shoulder gratefully, while reflecting at how inaccurate Intel could be sometimes. _Reports said Rex was an efficient, loyal, skilled captain. That's clearly an understatement. There are so many of his good qualities that the reports omitted._

"Thanks, Captain," Rez said. "I think they were just trying to remind me of our little deal, but couldn't find a subtler way of jogging my memory." He rubbed his face with the towel and threw the sweat-drenched cloth on a bench. "Okay, you old grunts, it's time to show you some Jedi tricks."

Two hours later, Rez treated Rex and a couple other guys from Torrent Company to lunch at Dex's Diner in Coco Town. Never having eaten at a restaurant before, the 501st boys enjoyed themselves immensely, engaging in a contest to see who could eat the most sliders. Rez ––– the one who had the most experience in slider-eating ––– won, and spent the trip back to the barracks basking in the glory of being known as the human Hutt. After returning from lunch, Rez took a brief swim in the pool to cleanse the sweat and grime from his body, and then made preparations for the highlight of his day: sitting in the Jedi Infirmary and staring at a brain-dead Jedi Padawan, in the hopes that she would miraculously wake up, and therefore enable the soldier to return to the battle front and his squad.

As he slipped on his red fatigues, a cylindrical container fell out of his pocket. Curious, Rez picked it up and inspected the label on the container.

_Give this to Jordin when she wakes up, _it read.

Rez nodded, remembering what the container was for. Back when he had been on Umbria, preparing to board the escape pod which would take him and Jordin to the Republic fleet, he had been greatly surprised when Kan had approached him, carrying the receptacle. He had been astonished because Commander Enik seemed to dislike the troops; he hardly spoke to them, and when he did, it was usually to say something cruel. Adriaan said he had an animus against clones because it had something to do with their resemblance to his old Master's killer; just seeing them aroused feelings of bitterness and anger. "It's nothing personal," Adriaan always assured them. "It's just some sort of psychological malfunction. There's nothing anyone can do about this; if Kan is to be free of this hatred, he must free himself. This is a task he must do alone." The ELF Commando sure hoped the Padawan would hurry up and fix his mental problems, because if there was one person Rez hated more than a conceited Jedi Commander, it was a CO that wouldn't treat him like a living person.

Rez was even more surprised at Kan's strange request: to guard a letter addressed to Jordin. It wasn't the first letter entrusted to Rez, for Adriaan had also given him a written report which was to be filed to the Jedi Council. Rez had contacted Zett Jukassa, who had been very willing to deliver the letter to the Council, much to the ELF Commando's relief; stories of General ell Talaan's experiences with the top Jedi hadn't exactly given Rez a very high opinion of them. He wasn't afraid of them, he was just using Ember's philosophy of letting sleeping nexus lie. Pursuing danger was an unhealthy occupation.

Anyhow, Rez couldn't see what was so important about the little piece of flimsiplast that it must be protected by a vacuum-sealed container, and be delivered into Jordin's hands the moment she woke up. The clone was ashamed the first fact which popped into his head was that the letter was a love-note. But perhaps that wasn't quite fair to the young Commander; perhaps it was just instructions about some business on Coruscant Kan needed Jordin to attend to for him. Whatever the reason, Kan had expressed ––– in no uncertain terms ––– that if Rez even dared to open the container, Kan would personally rip certain body parts off the clone and throw the remainder of his quivering flesh to the dogs. Though the soldier wasn't fazed by such nasty threats, he wasn't arrogant enough to open the canister out of spite. It never paid to mess with a superior officer, especially one who would no doubt kill him on a mere whim.

So the soldier picked up the capsule reverently and placed it in his breast pocket. After checking his appearance in the refresher mirror, he took a step out into the hallway, only to jump and swear in frustration as his comlink signaled. His attitude changed immediately, however, when he flipped on his link and saw that it was a message from Synta. Recalling the delightful afternoon he had spent with the young woman, Rez eagerly accessed the message and scanned the contents.

_"Dear Rez," _It started out. Rez grinned, delighted at her form of address. This was the first letter he had gotten that had addressed him as "Dear Rez" ––– except maybe for those nasty-grams he had used to get from the Kaminoan geneticists, demanding that he be reconditioned on account of him being emotionally unstable. Luckily, his trainer had been one of those people who hated Kaminoans enough to make tatsushi out of them, so he had never gone through any reconditioning.

_"I'm writing to you because I think you, of all people, should hear the wonderful news first. After all, it was your inspiring words and genuine loyalty to your squad mates which prompted me to make this great life decision. If men bred to be slave soldiers who simply live to protect a Republic which won't even offer them full rights as citizens will still go to war, then surely I can do no less. You can gain nothing by fighting in this war, and yet you still take up arms; whereas I have everything to lose if the Republic is defeated, and yet I stay at home and spend my life breaking up with boyfriends and wasting my money on gaudy clothing and cheap holovids. So I have decided to enlist in the Grand Army in the Republic. _

_ "Do not ask me to stay home. I have made this decision of my own free will. It is not guilt which prompts me to do this, but realization that I have been very fortunate to have been born a free citizen in the Galactic Republic, and the least I can do to repay this is to protect the people I love. There is a GAR cadet academy on Carida, and they provide financial aid for volunteer reserve officers' training. I plan on taking a freighter there sometime next week. Do not worry about me; it's a school which trains civilians to be soldiers, so I'm sure the instructors and the overall ambience will be much less brutal then the conditions you described at the training facility on Kamino._

_ "I haven't told Natavi yet. I apologize, but I have decided not to take your advice and to set things right with him again. It wouldn't be fair to him since I'm going away, and besides he isn't half the man you are. I'm not saying anything, I'm just saying I would much rather date you than go out with him. Sincerely yours, Synta."_

Rez frowned as he read the last bit. _"I'm not saying anything, I'm just saying I would much rather date you than go out with him." _What was that supposed to mean? Was she trying to tell him something? No, she clearly said, "_I'm not saying anything." _Yet, in the next breath, she stated, "_I'm just saying I would much rather…" _It was some sort of code Rez found he wasn't able to decipher. He supposed it was just one of those things about women he wouldn't understand. Of course, her sign-off didn't provide any clues as to her feelings for him, either. _"Sincerely yours." _Would it have killed her to be a little more specific? Rez decided he would just have to play it safe and take the letter at face value.

He had to thank Eris Akura for the whole kriffing mess. If she hadn't told him to go take a walk, he wouldn't have ever met Synta. Yet he grudgingly admitted that something had been gained from meeting the young woman. If Synta hadn't met Rez, she probably would have been kidnapped by pirates, and she wouldn't have been given the opportunity to go to that kriffing cadet school and become a soldier who fought for the welfare of her society. Had Eris somehow known Synta was in some sort of trouble, and so had sent Rez to be the girl's knight in shining armor?

He knew there was only one way to find out. Sticking his comlink back in his pocket, he strode out into the hall and made his way outside, where he flagged down an airtaxi and directed the pilot to one of the Temple entrances located close to the Temple Infirmary. Within ten minutes, Rez was once again inside the Jedi headquarters. He made his way with ease through the halls, for during his stay on Coruscant he had become well acquainted with the layout of the Jedi Temple, and he soon found himself checking in at the Medical Corps front desk. The Bith Jedi stationed at the front office kindly ushered Rez into the hushed neurology ward and then left the clone alone, for Rez had been there often enough to remember exactly where Jordin was.

Contrary to his previous observations, the Infirmary did have medical droids and surgical equipment. They even had bacta tanks available. Rez passed the bright blue tubes which glowed eerily in the chamber. Jordin had spent most of the week contained within one of those glass vats, her brain activity constantly monitored by the sensors the Jedi Padawan Rinet had placed on different areas of her skull. The clone had been present yesterday when Rinet had drained out the bacta from her tank and transferred her to a bed. Except for being on full life support, Jordin had been given no other medical aid. Nothing else could have been done for her anyway. All they could do now was wait for the Sleeping Beauty to wake up.

Rez had become quite close to the little redhead throughout the entire ordeal, despite the fact she hadn't opened her eyes or uttered a single word to him since she had been put on the escape pod. As he approached the bed where his little princess lay sleeping, a golden-maned head lifted up and looked at him from Jordin's bedside. The clone paused hesitantly, not knowing if he was interrupting one of those Force healing sessions Eris Akura conducted on Jordin hourly, but the crippled Lurmen lifted a finger and beckoned for him to come closer.

"Commander Rez, isn't it? You've come to see your friend," she said quietly.

"Sorry, ma'am, it's just Commando Rez; I'm not in command of any troops," the clone said, feeling his face flush. During his stay on Triple Zero he found that beings all too often mistook the word "Commando" for "Commander", a misunderstanding which caused him many embarrassing explanations.

"Please, just call me Eris. I am not in command of anyone, either. I have chosen to serve others, not let others serve me," the Lurmen Padawan said with a smile.

"You say you do not command anyone, and yet you did not hesitate to control my mind and make me take that walk through the city," the soldier heard himself retort, and part of him was surprised at his accusatory tone. _Show some respect, soldier! She's a Jedi!_

The Lurmen did not appear to be offended. She simply blinked her golden eyes and smoothed the fabric of her tunic so that it covered her wasted legs. "I didn't use a Jedi mind-trick on you, if that's what you're saying. You weren't under any influence; you made the choice yourself."

"You suggested it to me, though. I heard your voice in my mind. How did you know about Synta?"

Eris smiled. "Ah, so you _did _meet the troubled young lady. I was wondering if you really would run into her."

"But how did you know? How could you have known she was in trouble?"

The Lurmen blinked. "You overestimate my abilities; I did not know, exactly. I was simply acting on instinct. As Rinet picked up Jordin to take her into the neurology ward, I suddenly felt a woman's distress through the Force. I did not know who or where she was, but I was told that you were the only person in the galaxy capable of helping her."

"Told by whom? What the heck are you talking about?"

The Lurmen sighed, folding her hands elegantly in her lap. "I am a medic, Rez; my skill set is of a different sort from the Jedi warriors. They are able to do many wonderful things, and have the power to rescue lives, as well as take them for the sake of the greater good. I am not as great as they. I simply clean up the messes that war leaves behind. I care for the sick, the injured, the dying. I have seen men and women ––– young and old alike ––– in various degrees of pain, so I have developed an innate ability to sense a single person's distress. I perceived this woman was in a trouble of some sort, so I sent you to help her. I am simply a tool of the Force; I was only doing what I was called to do. It was my duty to send someone to help her. Can you understand that, Rez? Surely you can relate to the call of duty."

He could relate to it, all right, but he still didn't quite understand all this Jedi mumbo-jumbo Eris was shoving down his throat. He was still baffled that Eris had been able to vaguely sense that Synta ––– a complete stranger ––– had been in trouble. As for sending Rez to help the woman, the medic had been doing what she felt was right. She couldn't have possibly predicted the horrible consequences of her actions. Rez found that he was not angry at Eris. How could he be? Her mind was wired to her heart, which was like that of a little child's: innocent, all-too-trusting, and bursting with an all-consuming passion for compassion towards all life. Who could possibly be capable of being angry at someone with a heart such as hers? Rez suspected she was even capable of loving the frigid and methodical Kaminoans.

"I almost wish you hadn't heard her in distress, otherwise I wouldn't have had to be in this mess," Rez said bitterly. "Holy fierfek, Eris, I spared Synta only to throw her to a worse fate."

"Surely her fate cannot be as terrible as you seem to make it," Eris said encouragingly. She indicated Jordin. "This woman ––– Synta? ––– isn't in a fix like little Jordin's, is she?"

Rez took a deep breath. "Miss Akura, you have no doubt heard of those childhood fairytales, which tell of a princesses being locked in towers and waiting to be rescued by their shining knights. The knight always ends up slaying the dragon or some other evil mythical creature, and the princess falls deeply in love with her liberator, and eventually they get married and live happily ever after. Well, that's just about what happened last week with Synta, except the incident referred to has an ironic twist. The princess admires her cavalier so ardently that she has become inspired to pick up a sword and go galavanting around the galaxy, slaying dragons and fulfilling other acts of shallow heroism."

"Shallow heroism? What has she done?" Eris asked, surprised.

"She has gone to join the GAR, Eris, and it's all on account of me and my big mouth!" Rez blurted.

The Padawan looked at him thoughtfully. "Your mouth _is _rather large, but you cannot take such a great burden upon your shoulders. She might have been contemplating joining the army even before you met her."

"Eris, she was afraid to join the GAR. She was afraid of the reaction she would get from her friends and family…"

"So you accuse yourself of inspiring her to be courageous? That is surely a grievous sin," Eris said a little teasingly. Rez smiled in spite of himself.

"I was hoping to change her mind, except I don't know if I can persuade her. She came across as rather headstrong," Rez said. "But if something happens to her ––– if she dies in this war ––– I swear I'll kill myself."

"Don't say that!" Eris replied rather vehemently. "Stop blaming yourself for events in which the blame is not yours. You aren't in control of everything; some things are just out of your hands. There are some things in this universe which we are not capable of preventing…like this." Then she bunched up her tunic and exposed the shriveled glory of her nonfunctional limbs. "You have no doubt wondered why I am capable of healing many people, yet do not have the power to rid myself of this infirmity," she said. "Well, I'll tell you why. It was no normal disease or injury which caused me to lose feeling in my legs. It was a sith lord who did this to me."

More Jedi claptrap. Great. Nevertheless, the mention of a sith piqued his curiosity. "A sith?" he repeated.

"Yes. Count Dooku. It happened shortly after the battle of Geonosis. I and my Master were assigned to the defense of a system in the Outer Rim. We didn't know Count Dooku was leading the Separatist invasion, otherwise a more competent Jedi team would have been sent. It just so happened that during a rescue objective, I came face-to-face with the sith lord. My Master ––– who wasn't with me at the time ––– cautioned me to flee, but Dooku appeared a senile dotard to my eyes, so I thought I was up to the challenge. I was young and foolhardy back then. My pride was my downfall." The Padawan lapsed into silence.

"So he defeated you?" Rez asked finally.

Eris nodded. "Yes. It took him all of ten minutes to disarm me, but he did not deliver the killing blow. He gave me a chance to beg on my knees for mercy, but this I would not do. Perhaps he was impressed with my valorousness in the face of death, or perhaps he thought it beneath him to kill me. For whatever reason, he let me go, but not without giving me a reminder of my defeat. I do not know exactly how he did it, but he touched my leg with his hand ––– and how icy cold it was! It seemed more metal than living flesh ––– and uttered a curse in the ancient tongue of the sith. I fainted as a black pain seized my legs, and I felt as though he had cut them from my body, but this was not so. He summoned the Force to destroy the life in my legs, and try as the healers might, they can do nothing to break his spell.

"I do not suppose I will ever walk again, but that does not mean I have to leave the Jedi Order. I cannot become a Jedi Knight because of my physical disability, so I was released from my Apprenticeship, and from active duty. At first, I just wanted to die. I felt as though all meaning had gone from my life. But then I discovered my skills as a healer, and I have since then found joy in living again."

"But how can you stand it? Crippled all your life, not able to receive formal training as an Apprentice…Eris, how can you bear living like this?"

She placed a hand that was astonishingly robust and healthy on his shoulder. "Listen to me, Rez; had I not been disabled, my Master would have continued my Apprenticeship, and perhaps someday I would have made a Jedi Knight. But I would only be a mediocre Knight at best; whereas if I become a healer, I may soon rise above my peers and increase in my skills until someday I shall become one of the finest medics in the galaxy. In a way, Count Dooku's curse has blessed me in a way he could have never imagined in all his darkest dreams. This infirmity has made me come to realize what my vocation in life is, and that is to help others, and to serve as a witness to the ramifications of arrogance."

"That's all very well, but what of Synta? What if the army isn't for her?" Rez asked, feeling impatient and altogether miserable."What if she's just making this choice because she feels she owes the Republic something? What if she's doing this because she's hoping that she'll be able to join my squad? What if this isn't her true calling?"

"Only she would know the answer to that," Eris answered.

"But what if I _did _influence her? Now I've separated her from her boyfriend, and she's going to leave her family and her homeworld and go to this cadet school which neither of us know anything about –––"

Akura raised her hand. "First of all, you did not separate her from her boyfriend; you said that he ditched her in the middle of nowhere. If anyone is to blame for her not liking him anymore, it is himself. As for this academy on Carida, I will go to the Jedi Archives and request information on it for you. Then you will at least know whether Synta is going to be in a suitable environment or not. Now please sit down, Rez; you look like you're about to have a heart attack."

Rez stiffly sat down in a chair close to the bed, taking Jordin's hand into his own. He always held her hand, because it was the only way he could let her know that he was there. He hoped she didn't mind him touching her hand, for even if it did not reassure her, it gave him a great deal of comfort. And he needed a whole lot of comfort at the moment.

_Please Jordin, I need someone to talk to. What if I forced Synta into this? What have I done?_

"Talk to Jordin, little soldier," Eris said gently. "I am sure she will understand you better than I can."

The Lurmen tapped on her repulsorlift chair, and it rose into the air and carried her out the door. Rez turned back to the comatose Padawan and took a deep breath, allowing himself to admire Jordin's frozen beauty for a moment. Of course, she wasn't nearly as pretty as when she was awake, for the heart of her comeliness was the joy she emitted in life. Like a soft summer breeze, she was happy and carefree and versatile, and her eyes sparked like virescent fire, which seemed to inflame everyone around her with the desire to live and laugh. Her beauty was of a different sort from Synta's. The Padawan had coppery red hair that gleamed in blinding shades of gold and red and brown as she moved in the sunlight, and her eyes were deep green emeralds shot through with sapphire sparks. Her skin was lily-white and delicate, though her cheeks perpetually held a blush-like tint, for she was nearly always laughing. Synta, the aspiring soldier girl, had hair as dark as the dying embers of a fire. Her eyes were amber, and her skin tanned. As Rez placed the images of the two girls side by side in his mind, he likened one to a pale-barked sapling, whose shoots had barely stabbed through the soil; yet it spread open its leaves to gather in the sunlight and emit a radiant joy of its own. The other woman was like a hardened tree that had just endured its first winter. Its beauty was of a more mature sort, a kind like a flower encased in ice. A blossom sheathed in durasteel.

_Okay, how the heck am I supposed to talk to you? _Rez asked the girl silently, stroking her hand. Her skin so transparent that the purplish veins were quite prominent, showing through like bluish cracks in pale glass. _I'm no Force-sensitive, and you're comatose. How can we possibly communicate?_

The girl was silent, offering no suggestions. Rez huffed in frustration and squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that somehow the strange Force stuff that Jedi used would somehow bless him with its presence within him.

_Let's just replay the whole thing in my mind. Maybe somehow she'll hear me…_

"So, enjoying your stay on Coruscant so far, Commander?" Synta asked as the taxi negotiated ––– rather aggressively ––– into the equally aggressive space lanes of Coruscant.

"Excuse me, ma'am, I'm not a Commander; it's just ELF Commando Rez," he explained a little wearily. This had been the third time someone had mistaken "Commando" for "Commander", and he was sure it wouldn't be the last time, either. "So far I've been enjoying myself, but I've only been here for a few hours. I spent a good part of my morning submitting a report to my COs and escorting the patient under my care to the proper medical facility. I ate lunch at a diner in Coco town, and then meandered my way down to the lower levels, where I found you."

"I didn't mean to end up down there," Synta murmured. "Natavi was always so unreasonable. I shouldn't have continued to argue with him while he was piloting, otherwise I wouldn't have ended up in the lower levels."

"Ah, so your boyfriend was annoyed with you and threw you out of his speeder like some rotten bantha carcass?" Rez joked. "I mean, not that you _look _or smell like a bantha carcass…" he added hastily upon seeing her shocked expression. _Stang, that was _real _smooth, Rez._

"Hardly annoyed. He was furious. We were just supposed to have a nice, romantic dinner at the _Snapping Septoid, _and then enjoy an evening at the Senate Opera house. I didn't think a production of _Lord of the Galaxy _would make me so upset, and I certainly didn't anticipate breaking up with Natavi over a political squabble…" her voice trailed off.

"Well, if Natavi or whatever-his-name-is doesn't know how to control his temper and treat a lady properly, then he shouldn't be dating anyone, let alone someone like you," Rez told her comfortingly. "You don't need to tell me what this is about, ma'am. It's not my business."

"Look, I don't care if you know," she said heatedly. "I don't kriffing care if the whole galaxy knows about our fight. Seriously, the Republic needs to realize how low they've fallen, if they've resorted to writing play productions which openly criticize and humiliate the men who are working their butts off so we can stay on our own fat choobies and watch poodoo like this. If they're going to make fun of Chancellor Palpatine and his cadre of fat senators then fine, but people don't have the right to be poking fun at the troops."

"What's this? Who's been making fun of me and my brothers?" Rez asked sharply.

"The opera house; the fat politicians whose lives you protect," Synta said miserably, "and worst of all, Natavi Savan ––– my own boyfriend. I've never been in the army or really met any troopers until today, but I'm pro-military because I know the jyst of what you guys do. Sure, it's your job and you get paid for it, but your occupation is a heck of a lot more hazardous than those cushy civilian professions. On top of that, you're separated from your family and your home –––"

"Actually, ma'am, we don't get paid," he broke in abruptly. "My only family is my squad, and my home is the barracks, so I'm not separated from my comfort zone at all by going to war."

Synta looked taken aback. "But, but…you must be mistaken. All soldiers get paid –––"

"Not us. We're not even citizens."

The girl's eyes widened. "Why is that? You fit all the criteria. You are sentient lifeforms, are you not?"

"Of course us troopers are sentient!" Rez retorted. "We're discriminated because we've been manufactured for war, ma'am. Don't you know we're all clones?"

"Clones!" Synta repeated. "Well, of course I know all about the Chancellor buying a clone army, but I thought purchasing the troops would at least entail providing the soldiers with full citizenship. You must be citizens, otherwise you're little more than the Republic's –––"

"Slave army. I know," Rez said.

All the color drained away from her face, and the soldier worried that she was going to faint. She put her head in her hands and moaned. "Oh my…oh holy fierfek, this makes the situation even worse. I'm going to be sick."

"Want my helmet, ma'am?" Rez offered, but Synta didn't appear to understand what to use it for. "To throw up in," he explained. _Sheesh, are all civvies this naïve?_

"I'm fine," she said, some of the blood returning to her cheeks. "That was just…rather unexpected news, but I guess I shouldn't be so surprised, with how corrupt the Republic has become. But how can a government which declares to abolish slavery justify making drudges out of your kind? And then to go even farther by mocking your loyalty to it…"

"That's fine with me. I make fun of civvies all the time," Rez said in a weak attempt at a joke.

Synta didn't crack a smile. She was dead serious. "No, you don't understand." She clasped and unclasped her hands nervously and took a deep breath, preparing herself to say something that was no doubt completely radical. Suddenly the airtaxi came to an abrupt halt, and the pilot leaned out and called to them over his shoulder.

"Okay, this is the place," the taxi driver said.

"Fierfek," Synta said, exhaling noisily to express her disappointment at the ruined opportunity. Rez found that the feeling was mutual. He, too, was sorry that his brief yet blissful experience with this young woman was about to be terminated.

Rez sighed and looked at the apartment the taxi driver had stopped at. Synta lived in one of the nicer complexes in the city, with a neat little flat near the top of the apartment tower. No wonder she had been so freaked out in the underlevels; she was used to living in the secure and relatively uneventful environment of the middle class.

"Well, this is where we part," Rez said, helping the woman out of the car and escorting her to the doorstep, just as Adriaan had drilled him to do. Synta took her keycard out of her shiny pink purse and swiped it across the keypad, and the door clicked open, revealing a glimpse of a clean, spacious apartment. The woman opened the door all the way and placed one petite foot halfway into the apartment, then paused.

"I'm sorry, it just occurred to me that…" she went red in the face, stammered a little, then let it all out in a rush. "Look, normally I'm not a very trusting person and don't immediately develop close friendships with people who let me borrow some creds for a taxi ride home, but you seem to be a decent boy, and you're the one they're making fun of, so I think I'm going to just tell you the whole story. It'll take quite some time to tell you, so would you like to come in for a few minutes? That is, if you're not needed by your commander or whatever…"

"Okay, but I must tell you that I am not a boy. I am a man," Rez said, even though technically he was only seven years old. _But she doesn't have to know that, _he told himself.

A quiet smile briefly touched Synta's tanned features. "Ah, yes…of course you are. My dear, _mature _cavalier, would you like to come in?" She stepped into the apartment and held the door open so that Rez could slip in after her. As he ducked inside, she closed the door and secured the latch ––– which greatly impressed Rez, for it showed him that she was aware of the perils an unlocked entrance could let in ––– and beckoned him into the living area, where a few couches had been stationed. "Oh, and another thing, stop calling me ma'am. Synta will do."

"Rather taking your chances with me, aren't you?" Rez asked with a sly grin.

"I feel it is a risk worth taking," she countered smoothly. She sat down on a low ottoman and folded her legs gracefully from under her, and indicated that Rez take a seat at the other end of the caf table. The clone sat down on the couch a bit awkwardly, used to standing up when in a civilian's presence. Synta knitted her fingers together and took a deep breath before she started talking again. Her story was rather jumbled, and at some parts she became so emotional that she had to pause for moments at a time to compose herself, but what Rez could gather from it was that Synta and her boyfriend were going steady, right up until they went to see the play. _Lord of the Galaxy_ was supposed to be a melodramatic retelling of the first year of the clone wars, but the producers seemed more interested in poking fun at the soldiers, warping their loyal characteristics so that they were snidely portrayed as organic droids with bad programming and very little human interests. Most of the jokes Rez found he didn't understand, but Synta assured him they were absolutely disgusting and crude, and shouldn't be openly viewed by the public. He found he was most offended at how the play portrayed clones as soldiers who couldn't even hit the back end of Senator Orn Free Taa, the corpulent representative of Ryloth.

"I can _too _aim straight!" Rez yelled, interrupting Synta's retelling of the incident. He stood up from the couch abruptly, pulling his blaster pistol out of his hip holster and pointing it in the general direction of a wine glass on the kitchen counter, which was on the other side of the apartment. Without even bothering to look, he adjusted his aim and pulled the trigger, and was immediately gratified by the sound of glass shattering and tinkling the tiled floor. He looked at Synta for her approval, and found that the poor woman had gone as white as a sheet. He was disappointed at her reaction until he remembered that she was a female civilian, and therefore unaccustomed to seeing such a stunning display of precision. As the soldier stood in the middle of the room, trying to concoct an appropriate apology, Synta rose quietly to get out a dustpan and broom. The penitent clone helped her clean up the mess and offered to pay for the broken cup, but she refused, saying that he had done more than enough for her already. Rez wasn't quite sure of that, but he couldn't help but admire at how calmly she had reacted. He supposed a normal civilian would have screamed, alerted security, and then passed out in a dead faint.

"I really am awfully sorry for that, Synta," he said for the fifth time. "I just forgot myself for a moment. You see, in the barracks such behavior is considered routine…"

"It's fine, Rez. Really. You had a right to be angry." Synta Milite went into the kitchen and came back with two glasses and a pitcher of fizzade. Setting a cup in front of him, she poured the clone some of the refreshing beverage and continued, "I really don't understand antimilitary people. How can they despise the soldiers who die so that they may continue to live their everyday lives in ungrateful peace? Seriously, making fun of the military is like cutting out the floor from under you. Without the army, the Core systems would be left open to attack. Important fortress planets and industrial worlds such as Kuat, Argau, Bormus, Fresia ––– and maybe even Coruscant, the Republic's own capital ––– would be vulnerable to not only the CIS, but roving marauders and like scum."

Rez nodded. "Worst thing about it is, if they think we clones are doing a bad job of protecting them ––– which we aren't, by the way; it's our untrained COs who are messing up this war ––– then why don't they enlist in the army themselves? This is their galaxy we're talking about, their livelihood. What's keeping them from fighting?"

Synta, her eyes downcast, traced a pattern on the table with the tip of a slender, manicured finger, "Fear, perhaps. Fear of death, fear that their families and friends will disapprove, that they'll lose what they're still holding on to. As for Natavi, my ex-boyfriend, it's plain arrogance which keeps him from enlisting. If he were to join the army, he said, he wouldn't want to fight alongside the 'organic droids', as he calls you. He'd prefer to command you, to make you do _his _bidding. When I pointed out that he couldn't possibly run a war better than you guys could because you've all been bred to fight, while Natavi works as a Senate aide for a living. Then he said…well, that's when we had that fight. We left the opera still arguing, and he got so fed up with me that he dropped me off in that plaza, where you found me."

"I feel rather guilty." And Rez certainly did, knowing that he had been obliquely responsible for Synta getting jilted.

"Don't be," Synta said vehemently. "It was bound to happen sometime or another, anyway. Natavi was always driven by shallow passion and ambition. He was a slave to his emotions. The only reason I was dating him was because I thought that somehow I could change him, but after tonight, I'm not so sure." She swirled the contents of her cup and poured Rez another glass. "Now, tell me about the army. What's it like being a hero of the Republic?"

"_A hero of the Republic." Yeah, she really knew how to keep me sweet, didn't she? Oh, fierfek, Jordin, I gave poor Synta a play-by-play of my entire life, from gestation to brutal training to my deployment in the clone wars. Kriff, I even gave her a crash-course on tracheotomy__. Why couldn't I keep my mouth shut? Poor woman, she must have wanted to throw up, but she really kept me going because she had the most unfazed expression on her face. Do you see her in my mind, Jordin? Look at her face; have you ever seen a woman so incredibly calm? She realized what I was telling her was grisly and hellish, but there she is, sitting as cool as an icicle, confident that she could handle the gore. Fierfek, I tainted her mind with delusions of grandeur in battle. Look at me praising the glory and honor of my brothers. Look how I strut about, blathering on about the various military campaigns I played a part in, lauding my commanding officer's skill as a General. Look at her eyes, Jordin. Look at how they light up with the fire of equity. It was I who put that fire into her eyes; I am to blame. _

"Ah, how I wish I could join you!" Synta cried. "But Natavi says that women aren't allowed to fight because they aren't any good at strategizing. That was why I was so surprised when you said that the soldier you escorted to the hospital was a female."

"The majority of us GIs are men, but I've never heard regulations against females becoming soldiers," Rez said. "Most of the women in the GAR are Jedi, and they're really quite splendid warriors. I don't know where your boyfriend got the notion that women can't fight. There are some women I know who are better COs than the men officers. My General is one of them."

Then he went on to tell her of Adriaan, the Varactyl Clan, and his squad brothers. He told her about Nano wanting to get an education at the University of Coruscant once the war was over, Ammo's uncanny ability to do realistic voice imitations of any creature in the universe, Onor becoming a vegetarian, Lance being left-handed due to his gestation tank being spiked during his first trimester in the simulated womb, Drag hating vegetables and keeping a comb and some hair gel in his utility belt because he hated getting "helmet hair", Storm carrying a lightwhip on his belt in case he needed to discipline unruly soldiers, Cor dying his eyes red because he liked to look like a "wild man", Skipp's passion for fried food, his squad nicknaming Commander Ember "the mom". He even told her about Wolf, how he never breathed a word about his training days on Kamino, how he sometimes woke Rez in the middle of the night with his screams for someone called Pi. And lastly, he spoke of Jys and the other men who had died on Umbria, during his absence. As he told her about the day he was contacted by Ember and told of the deaths of seven people of his squad, he began to feel as if a great burden had been lifted from his chest. He began to feel more at ease with Synta than he had ever been with anyone else outside his squad. It felt good to talk to someone who hadn't been there, and yet would understand what he was going through. He was relieved that he didn't end up breaking down and bawling, which would have been terribly embarrassing.

"You seem little troubled by the fact that the whole Republic is calling your kind droid men," she said. "Until tonight, I was like to believe that you guys_ were_ just organic droids. Now I see it is pure jealousy which has started these cruel rumors of clones. I think men in this galaxy mock you because they know they aren't half as courageous and virile and loyal as you clones are. I just wish…I just wish the Republic men and women would get off their corpulent butts and at least attempt to become as heroic as you clones are. Rez, I –––" She choked and suddenly burst into tears.

The clone sat staring at the distraught woman for a moment, feeling terribly awkward and incompetent. He had never had to deal with a crying woman before, and he realized that he had no clue how to react. None of the Jedi had ever sobbed like this. In fact, he had seen only one Jedi ever cry, and that had been his own General. She had been lamenting the soldiers who had died during the campaign of Hai, and even then she had shed her tears quietly, letting the drops fall mercifully onto the blood-soaked dirt of the battlefield.

_Jango's bones, man, don't just sit there like an idiot. Go comfort her._

Rez eventually got up and perched warily beside the girl, awkwardly putting his arm around her and patting her on the back sympathetically. Synta leaned into him and turned her face into his shoulder, soaking his sleeve with her warm, salty tears. The clone sat very stiffly, wondering if somehow he was breaking some sort of rule by soothing the girl, but eventually he relaxed, enjoying the warmth of her body so close to his. He inhaled and untensed his muscles, breathing in the soft, delicately floral scent of her auburn hair. "_Udesii, cyar'ika. Udesii_," he murmured, ruffling her hair in the same way Adriaan did for Rez whenever he had been upset. Finally, Synta stopped sniffling and pushed herself away, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. Her makeup had already been smeared ––– Rez suspected she had been crying before he had found her ––– and now the tears had washed it off completely. Despite the fact that her face was no longer enhanced with cosmetics, the clone still found her to be quite gorgeous.

"You keep speaking in a foreign tongue I have never heard," Synta said. "What are you saying? What does 'oo-DAY-see shar-EE-kah' mean?"

Rez blushed, because he just realized that he didn't know the answer. All he knew was that it was Mando'a. Adriaan had only started to teach him the words to the language before he had left to take Jordin to Coruscant, so he barely knew anything about it. Whenever a soldier or Padawan had been upset, Adriaan had always ruffled their hair or patted their arm and said, _"Udesii, cyar'ika_" so Rez had guessed that it was some sort of phrase of comfort.

"I don't know," he said truthfully.

Synta's amber eyes flashed, and she rose with a laugh. "Don't lie to me, Rez; I thought you were taught honesty in the Grand Army! Come on, it can be all that embarrassing to translate." She leaned down and scrutinized his expression. "Or can it?" she asked, a smile playing about her lips.

"I'm telling you the truth," Rez insisted. Synta's smile turned down at the corners just a fraction, and her lower lip jutted out in the most charming little moue.

"If you don't tell me, I'm just going to have to guess," she said. "And believe me, I can have quite a wild imagination."

_ What a demanding woman. Impossible girl. _ Rez sighed and made up a translation on the fly. "I said, 'Shut up and stop your whining'" he said.

"Oh, come on, even a drunken Weequay can lie better than that."

"Okay, fine. I said, 'Cease crying, fairest of all women'" Rez amended.

Synta laughed and slapped him, but only playfully. "You're impossible!" she giggled.

The woman's bubbling laugh rang mockingly in the man's ears, sounding like icicles shattering in the frosty morning air as the ice caught the blinding glare of the sun. _Fierfek, get out of my mind, woman! _He fumed. _Don't you ever shut up?_

_ "No," _she replied laughingly.

Rez frowned. Had someone just spoken? Was Synta truly in his mind? No…no, that was impossible. She was no Force-sensitive. Besides, that voice had been too young, too guileless…

_Jordin? _He ventured cautiously.

_"What."_

Eris' talk of acting on instinct and being guided by incorporeal voices was getting to his head. _This is crazy. I must be on the luna-weed or something. Jordin can't talk. She's comatose; living on the borderlands of death._

_ "Not for long," _she answered.

Suddenly the hand that he clasped in his own great fist squeezed his fingers in a tight grip. His eyes snapped open, and he looked down in astonishment at the pale, dead hand that now grabbed his in a grip that was altogether warm and alive.

_"I am growing stronger by the day. Soon the battle will be over; the foe, vanquished," _Jordin said triumphantly.

_When?_

_ "Soon."_

Rez paused, recollecting his earlier thoughts. _Did you hear me? Is that why you're still fighting?_

_ "Those who live in death hear the words of both the living and the dead," _she answered. "_My entire body except for my ears have shut down, so though I cannot move or respond, I have heard everything that has transpired since the man in golden armor attacked me. I knew and felt your despair when the CIS attacked the pod carrying us to the _Victory, _and I also experienced the renewed surge of hope you felt when the Republic fleet arrived in time to help us. I know how bitterly you have fought for me, and had you not shown such compassion towards me ––– a brain-dead Padawan, a burden to you ––– I would have died weeks ago. Though Eris and Rinet have worked wonders to resuscitate my brain cells, it was you who kept my spirit from breaking. And for that, I thank you."_

The soldier's throat tightened at her kind words, and part of himself was actually angry at how emotional he was getting. He fretted that he was getting softhearted, but he pushed his worries away when he remembered that Jordin was connected to his thoughts. _Don't thank me; I wanted to do it, _he replied truthfully. Several times during the objective he had had regrets about volunteering, but the love he had for Jordin had been enough to keep him going. _The compassion I showed to you came from the depths of my heart. _He squeezed the girl's hand, and his throat stopped hurting.

_"I know," _she said softly. "_In a way, this coma has granted me powers beyond my original strength, for I can see down into the core of all beings, and I know you have a great and caring heart, Rez. I know of the pain you feel at the separation from your squad, and how you willingly bear this pain for my sake; I know how much you love the men and women we left on Umbria, and I know also of the great love you have for me. As for that one woman you spoke of –––_

_ Synta._

_ "Yes, her. You love her, don't you." _She wasn't putting it as a question, for she already knew it to be true. Rez thought she sounded slightly smug, as if she was very pleased that he had chosen to confide in her, and her alone. _"Yes, you love her very much; know that she loves you also. But do not let your feelings for her cause you to become obsessive and overprotective. Love and infatuation are two very different things."_

_I can't let her go to her death._

_ "She will go, whether you will it or not. Besides, all must die eventually."_

_ But she will die young if she goes to war._

_ "Just like you."_

Rez found he had no comeback for that one. Comatose Jordin was much different from real-life Jordin. He wasn't sure if he quite liked this new, mature Padawan. At least when she had been the mobile, flighty, foolish adolescent, he had been able to trounce her in a debate.

_What must I do, then? _He asked, defeated.

She took some time before answering him. _"Talk to Master ell Talaan; she knows well of the vocation crisis, of choosing one life over the other. She chose to be officer over Jedi; she will surely know the dilemma Synta is facing, the emotions the woman is going through. She will know what to do."_

Rez got to his feet, hope kicking him into action. _I will go and contact her at once. _He attempted to extract his hand, but her grip was surprisingly strong, and held him fast.

_"Patience. You have plenty of time. Besides, she is busy right now, training your brothers how to defend themselves against an opponent armed with a lightsaber."_

_ Lucky them._

_ "Indeed." _Jordin's voice seemed to get farther and farther away. "_I must stop talking now; it is draining the energy I need to finish healing myself. However, if you don't mind, could you stay here for a bit longer? I feel safer when you're around."_

_ Of course. _Rez settled himself down, gazing fondly at the young woman he had come to love during the weeks of peril and anxiety he had spent alone with her. She hardly looked the victim of an attack; all the burns and scrapes she had acquired from the battle had healed long ago, and she lay as peacefully as if she were merely asleep. _Besides, I enjoy being here with you. I think you look absolutely adorable when you're sleeping._

_"I know," _she murmured, and a beatific smile briefly touched her unconscious features.


	11. Chapter 10: It is Time

**Hey, guys! Sorry I haven't updated in awhile; I've been running a bit behind schedule with the book. I was hoping to publish two chapters this week, but chapter 11 isn't ready yet, so I hope chapter 10 will be enough...**

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Before you begin, I'd like to explain the opening section of the chapter. About every ten paragraphs or so are similar segments describing the pain she feels while claw-like hands press down against her chest. This is followed by something like this: "One-two-three-four-five-to-thirty" Adriaan's rescuer uses the CPR technique which has a general compression-ventilation ratio of 30:2. In other words, the rescuer breathes into the unconscious person's mouth twice, then pumps the cardiac arrest victim's chest thirty times at a rate of about 100/minute. The claws are actually Adriaan's rescuer's hands as they press against her chest, and the "impalpable, acrid stuff" forced down her throat is air. The repetition of the description of the claws compressing her chest were used to illustrate how she could feel physical pain, even when she was unconscious.

Okay, I hope that explanation made sense. As usual, I invite you to review when you are finished reading.

_Oya! _(Let's roll!)

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Chapter 10

"_Haatyc or'arue jate'shya ori'sol aru'ike nuhaatyc." - _Mandalorian proverb. Translation: _"Better one big enemy that you can see than many small ones that you can't."_

✶ District 15, 1435, 405 days ABG✶

She opened her eyes only to realize her eyes didn't exist. All was naught. Naught was all. She was swimming in the murky waters of Naboo; or was it Glee Anselm? She didn't know. All she knew was that…

"Aaaaaaawwwwhhhhhh…" She tried to scream, but a feeble groan was all she could manage. Something was in her mouth…_It's water, stupid. Remember, you're underwater; when you opened your mouth, the water rushed in._

She moved her mouth experimentally. _See, at least I still have control of my mouth. Guess that's good. _Something warm and soft yet very firm pressed against her lips, forcing something impalpable and very disagreeable-tasting down her throat.

_ Solid…solid ––– I don't remember water being solid._

_ Where is everyone? Am I dead, or just brain-dead? Well, of course it's obvious my brain's not dead, or I wouldn't be wondering. Funny, why do they call it brain-dead when your brain isn't dead? You can't live with a dead brain. _

_ You also can't live with a dead heart. I guess that means I'm dead. My heart stopped beating; I remember that much. _She pressed her hand to her chest, but nothing pulsed beneath her skin. _Yep, I'm definitely dead. But wait, if I'm thinking this then my brain must be working. Does that mean I'm alive? _

"Huh huh huh…" Now she was screaming, her lungs shrieking in protest as something pressed against her chest, forcing her lungs to collapse. Pressure relieved. More intangible, acrid stuff forced down her throat. Something compressing just below her sternum again. One-two-three-four-five-six-seven…She howled as the thing forced water out of her.

Just then she saw a flash of carnelian in the sea of deep, boring blue. As she squinted, she perceived a young girl with blood-red tresses and viridian-tinted irises slowly moving towards her. The sylph was about thirteen or fourteen, and clothed in a peacock blue dress which shimmered and caught the murky light dappling in the water.

_Wait a second, I know that girl. It's Jordin Skraps. My Padawan. Hey! Over here, kid! _She tried to wave her hand at Jordin, but for some reason her brain was confusing her foot with her arm. To her surprise, the girl waved her own foot back. _Oh yeah, my brain must be getting this all mixed up. We wave our feet, not our hands. Stupid me._

Despite her muddled thoughts, she had a clear sense of being confused at seeing Jordin. She remembered that the conscious part of her had been separated from her Padawan for some time, but she couldn't remember why, or how it had happened. Something about Kan cutting off her arm…wait, that had been Marya who had cut off Kay's arm. Or maybe it had been Jahn Pal who had done it to Aedan. _ Oh, bother having a dead heart. I can't remember anything. Wait, I know Jordin ended up in a coma; I remember that much. _"Hey, Jordin, are we in the afterlife, or in the comatose dimension of our consciousness?" she asked.

"Fierfek," Jordin swore pleasantly, and for some odd reason that made perfect sense to…_Fierfek, I can't even remember my own name. Wait, now I remember: I'm Rune. Rune Kebiigan. Okay, glad I got that straight._

"Oh, of course, duh. How's Rez, by the way? Oh, and Kan misses you. So do I. Coming back any time soon? Heatrian's making chili tonight, and you know his chili's out of this universe." She ––– who, for the sake of clarity, was now called Rune Kebiigan ––– couldn't remember how she knew that Heatrian was making chili. She just knew that he was.

"It chili what is? Kriffing bantha chewing luna-weed isn't _osik_?" Jordin asked.

This question put Rune –––_ fierfek, I know that's not my name, but I can't think of my real one –––_ off for a second. "Well, chili is food that is cooked…no, maybe it's eaten raw. Not meat; a vegetable. It's salty…no, sweet. And it's vomit-colored."

"Appetizing. Now go step in some _osik,"_ Jordin said sweetly.

"Wow, who taught you manners? And how do you know what _osik_is?" _I don't remember what it is, but I know it belongs in the refresher__._

"Rez," Jordin replied cheerfully. "Oh yeah, your Master has a message for you." It was the first intelligent sentence not-Rune had heard the girl utter.

_Jacen has a message? Hah, now I remembered someone's name! Now we're getting somewhere! Take that, cardiac arrest! _She would have punched the air in triumph, if the air had existed and if she had known how to punch it. She attempted a victorious whoop, but it ended up sounding more like a strangled hiccupas the sleek, smothering, velvety claws pressed against her chest again. One-two-three-four-five-to-thirty.

_ I shouldn't be so cocky. This is not funny at all. If he has a message for me, that must mean Jordin and I are both dead; unless his spirit visited Jordin in a dream or something. _"Okay, what's the message?" Rune asked.

Jordin smiled. "You're a _shabla aruetyc ori'hut'uun._"

_Shabla aruetyc ori'hut'uun._ A screwed up, traitorous, extreme coward. It was the worst possible insult to be bestowed upon a lifeform. She was an ultimate failure. Rune screamed, hammering her fists against the invisible walls of her prison. Jordin's smile seemed to freeze on her face, her cerise tresses glowing with an aberrant fierceness. Rune gasped as the Padawan's hair burst into flames.

"Jordin, your hair…"

"Want to know who your father is?" Jordin asked calmly. The fire calmed down as it exhausted its fuel supply, and gradually died away, leaving the girl's hair black and burnt. The girl grew in size ––– no, she was moving closer ––– and grabbed Rune by the shoulders, forcing her to gaze into her unfathomable albino eyes.

_But Jordin's eyes are green…_Just then Rune realized she had made a terrible mistake. This girl wasn't Jordin; she was the Arkanian cultist she had met at the pool. Elsil.

"What would you know about my father? He died before you were even born," Rune spat.

Elsil grinned. "A good fighter always studies her opponent before the match."

Rune threw a punch at the girl's face, but Elsil disappeared in a puff of smoke before her hand made contact. Left alone in the empty reality, Rune slumped upon a nonexistent floor.

_Where the _haran _am I? The afterlife isn't supposed to be empty. Where is everyone?_

A strange woman with flaming carnelian locks ––– not literally flaming, Rune noticed with relief ––– appeared by her side. Afraid that Elsil had returned to torment her further, Rune shrank back, but the girl appeared to have no wish to molest her. She shuddered and gasped again as the claws swooped down, eviscerating her guts. One-two-three-to-thirty.

"Who are you?" Rune demanded. The girl was dressed in a gossamery white garment, and a sweet breeze Rune was not graced to feel rustled through the woman's hair and clothing. She was a female, but of what age or race Rune could not tell. For though she was built in the image and likeness of a human, a radiant, ethereal light shone about her form. The face belonged to a young child, but she clearly had the body of a mature woman. Even more strange about the girl was her jasper-green eyes, which glittered more fiercely than any fire Rune had ever seen.

"I know your face…" Rune said, and the girl nodded in approval. She didn't smile, though her eyes crinkled slightly about the corners, as if she were remembering the most wonderful joke. "I…I think you're my sister."

_You don't have a sister, _the girl said with gentle conviction, though her lips did not move.

"Oh." Rune experienced a brief moment of disappointment that she was not related to such a beautiful creature. "Are you my daughter?"

_In a way, _the girl answered, a little giggle bubbling up in her voice.

"I've heard your laugh. Your name starts with a 'J', I think. I know, you're Ember!" The girl laughed outright at this, and Rune realized her mistake. _Oh yeah, Ember is a boy… _"Okay, I give up. Please tell me who you are and who I am ––– because I haven't been able to figure out what my name is ––– and where we are."

The woman's rose-red lips parted to speak, when a man's voice floated towards them. It sounded like someone she knew, but again no name came to mind. _This is driving me nuts._

"_Shereshoy! Shereshoy!" _the man cried. The maiden turned in the direction of the voice, though to Rune it seemed to resound all around them.

"Hold onto Life!" Rune cried, glad to have remembered one Mando'a word, at least. The woman called _Shereshoy ––– _to lust for life, a unique Mandalorian emotion which strengthens the warrior's will to survive in impossible circumstances, to live to see the next sunrise ––– turned back at her and actually did smile this time, though it was only briefly.

Then the girl slowly raised her hand, and Rune recoiled with a sharp squeal when she saw the flame the woman held cupped in her palm. Her shriek reverberated, echoing through the infinite dimension, bouncing off chimerical surfaces. She yelled until every particle of breath had been expelled from her soma, and still the unguis forced the screams out of her. One-two-three-four-five-six-thirty.

_Do not be afraid. See? It does not burn me. _The woman moved in close and pressed the spark in the hole which had ruptured Rune's heart.

"_Broka__ ––– _beat,"_ Shereshoy _commanded with her mouth, and then turned and ran out of Rune's existence.

"_Shereshoy!" _The flame grew hot and piercing within her chest. It rose up into her mouth and sealed her lips, her ears, her eyes, everything shut. The fire heated the forge within her body; the smith aroused from his slumber and pumped the bellows to send the ichor flowing through her veins. Rune cried out, and woke up to feel something soft and warm and strange pressed against her mouth, stifling her yells.

"What is this?" she murmured, and the pressure on her lips was relieved immediately. Painfully, her lungs expanded on their own and inhaled good old pollutant-laden oxygen. General ell Talaan of Ade Verda Brigade coughed and sat up in the middle of the White Hat Cafe, astonished that she was still alive.

_My heart stopped…_She pressed her hand to her chest and felt the reassuring throb of her central organ pulse against her skin. _How the _haran _am I still alive? Stang, I must really be driving Haak nuts. He just can never quite kill me, can he?_

_ "Nor can you quite kill him, too. And for that, must you always be in a stalemate."_

That discomforting thought seemed to snap her back into reality, and she became aware that she hurt everywhere. Never before had she expected an attack to come from a harmless infant, but then shapeshifters had an uncanny ability to take nearly any form they pleased. Morphing into the likeness of a clone baby had only intensified Adriaan's attraction towards it.

_"A good fighter always studies her opponent before the fight," _Elsil had said in her nightmare. It appeared the cultists were taking that wise philosophy of Jacen Palgwebb's to heart.

Adriaan's gaze roamed aimlessly around the cafe, looking for the person who had saved her. Her eyes lit upon her attacker's corpse, which lay sprawled half a meter away, a blaster round smoking in its forehead. Who ––– or what ––– had killed it?

Suddenly she noticed that someone was crouching beside her in the gloom. She turned and groped blindly in the darkness, her hands coming in contact with the familiar contours of Jango Fett's face.

"_Vod ––– _brother?" she asked uncertainly.

The man didn't answer, and the Knight briefly wondered if he was dead; but no, no corpse could maintain that squatting position, and besides, she could feel his labored breath puffing on her skin. Usually she could tell her boys apart blindly ––– they left unique impressions in the Force, so she didn't need to see to distinguish them ––– but she couldn't even feel the Force flowing through her anymore. _Why is that? Why have I been robbed of my energy? All the changeling did was bite my neck. Did he poison me?_

Adriaan looked at the cadaver again. The changeling had died in its vampire form, which was unusual for a shapeshifter. Klamin had once told her that only Shi'idos and Shi'Odos didn't change back into their true shapes whey they died. Whether the attacker was a Shi'ido or a Shi'Odo was uncertain, for Adriaan did not know the difference between the two species.

But her thoughts were digressing. Adriaan tried to focus on finding the reason for her lack of energy. She didn't know much about vampiric species, but she had heard of energy vampires ––– aliens which drained you of all your strength until nothing was left but the shell of your body. That was no doubt what had caused her to go into cardiac arrest. She would have surely died, had not that clone saved her.

_That clone_…Adriaan tried again to summon the Force, but to no avail. She felt no response; she felt utterly cut off from the galaxy, detached from life…but her thoughts were wandering again. She would reconnect to the Force in due time, she assured herself. But for now, she must discover the identity of her savior, her hero.

Her hand moved experimentally across the man's face, and felt the soldier stiffen at her touch. _Maybe it's Storm; he doesn't like people touching him. _Storm also had a ridged scar which cut across his upper lip. He was growing a mustache to cover it. Her hand moved from the clone's square, clenched jaw and grazed across his lips. Before she had time to see if he was clean shaven or not, the soldier jerked away with a sharp Mando'a curse.

"_Usen'ye!" _he snapped, telling her to go away in the rudest possible way. She instantly regretted teaching her boys that phrase.

"Wolf?" Adriaan asked, recognizing the opaque, grave, esoteric nuance in the voice that was so unique to her beloved Captain, but the soldier leaped to his feet and melted back into the gloom without answering her. "Wolf!" What was wrong with him? Why didn't he answer her? Was he angry that he had had to save her life? That wasn't like him at all.

Adriaan's desensitized brain was still mulling the matter over when Ember and Skipp found her and made her get to her feet. "Security's arriving," the ELF Commando Commander was saying. "The Padawans mind-rubbed the crowd. No one can know the GAR or the Goba Shag Embassy was involved here." He then said something about smuggling Kay offworld with Vyto to attend to her, and that topic momentarily brought Adriaan out of her mental fog.

"No, take her to the hotel. I can Force heal her," she heard herself saying.

"But ma'am, you can barely walk, and this is tension pneumothorax we're talking about. She requires life support apparatus and professional medical care –––"

"My energy will return in a moment. Besides, if my Padawans help me, I can probably heal her faster and better than the best emergency surgeon in the Galactic Republic. Just…just get us out of here, Ember…"

Ember's face was in a brown study, fatigue and doubt contorting his expression into a feral grimace. "Fine, ma'am," he said finally, his tone conveying his disapproval. "But Vyto's going to take a look at you before you heal anyone. Cardiac arrest is no trivial thing to recover from."

"Poor kid," Skipp said, but Adriaan had a feeling he wasn't referring to her.

_What's going on? If I was in cardiac arrest, how did I wake up? And why was Wolf acting so weird?_

Ember and Skipp helped her outside, where she gasped in fresh air. Overhead, the sky was lit with numerous stars. Her chrono said that only fifteen minutes had transpired, but the plaza looked like it hailed from a vastly different world. Before, it had maintained an air of peace and stability; families, friends, businessmen, natives, and foreigners alike strolling along the clean public walkways, each minding his own business. Now, victims roamed the streets, most sitting on the pavement with lost looks on their faces. They all looked like zombies ––– an unpleasant side effect of a Jedi mind trick. Security was going to have a hard time getting a straight story out of anyone.

Her Padawans and the clones were standing by the fountain, defensively protecting Kay Lee from prying eyes as Vyto kept her stabilized. Adriaan anxiously searched the soot-blackened, tired faces, but Wolf was not among them. Ember didn't appear to be concerned, so she supposed they knew where the young clone Captain was. Pushing Ember and Skipp away, she staggered forward, her students parting before her. She made it to the fountain and fell to her knees a meter short of Vyto and her unconscious friend. The medic glanced up from the patient and read the unspoken question in her eyes.

"_Ven'kaysh cuyanir," _he said. "She'll live."

Adriaan put her hands to her face and burst into tears.

* * * * *

Wolf dashed into the hotel, past the proprietor sleeping at his desk, skirted the turbolift because it was full of people, and pounded up twelve flights of stairs, his legs burning as he took the steps four at a time. When he finally made it to his floor, he didn't even pause to catch his breath, but raced down the hall, slid the key into the door and slammed himself into the invulnerability of the empty suite. His chest heaving and his mind blank, he sat down on the first available bed, his body smoldering. The fire eventually compacted into one area, leaving his skin retching with chills. He became aware that his lips were burning, as if he had just consumed a whole ton of hot peppers, but it was not capsaicin which caused his mouth to smolder. He immediately jumped to his feet and rushed to the refresher, turned on the cold tap water in the sink and stuck his mouth under the faucet. Spitting out jets of freezing water, he hastily pumped out a mountain of liquid soap into his hand and, before he had a chance to think, poured it down his throat, washing the cleanser down with more water. Switching off the faucet, he wiped the pink, foaming soap from his mouth and went back to his room, his taste buds cringing from the bitter taste of the soap, which tasted hardly as good as if smelled. But at least the acrid taste made him forget the unbearably pleasant, minty flavor of her breath…

_"Pack it in, man; you weren't kissing her. Just doing what any good soldier would have done for a person in cardiac arrest."_

_ There are alternative, better ways to revive someone from cardiac arrest._

_ "You were in shock, and acting on instinct. There wasn't enough time for your brain to recover and focus clearly enough to remember a better option."_

_ I did CPR longer than was necessary._

His alter ego sucked his teeth noisily. _"Don't make up sins, Wolf."_

He sat down on the bed rather shakily and got out his deece. Mental trauma was no excuse for avoiding proper post-objective protocol. GAR regs always required soldiers to prime their kit both before and after each mission. Wolf did not intend to disobey an order now. His hands trembled slightly as he disassembled and cleaned the various components of the blaster before putting it back together, so it took him twice as long as usual to complete the task. The work put his mind off the incident and allowed his head to clear, but as he heard his companions returning, he began to get keyed up.

_Shavit, does she know? Does she know I used mouth-to-mouth on her? Ember's gonna kill me._

"Pull the sheets off one of the beds in the other room," Adriaan said, shrugging off her ivory tunic ––– now scarred with blood ––– and tossing it in the refresher room. Wolf averted his gaze, not even daring to look at her in the black tank top she had worn underneath the white shirt. "Klamin, Darc, stop gawking at me as if I'm some Twi'lek dancer and help Vyto move Kay Lee onto the bed." Out of the corner of his eye, Wolf saw Kan attempt to shuffle past Adriaan, but his Master's hand came down hard on his shoulder before he could disappear. "Kan, no, I asked Klamin and Darc to help Vyto."

"I'm strong enough!" Kan protested fiercely. "Stronger than any shapeshifter or ex-Jedi!"

"Throttle off the testosterone _ad'ika; _you can prove your superior strength in a wrestling match later," she said firmly. Her tone became more gentle as she added, "It's not because I think you're weak, Kan; I'm just concerned for your welfare. You were hurt in the attack."

"I'm fine."

"No, you aren't. You can barely stand. Here, Drag, you're big and strong; you get this bloodthirsty _verd _to a clean bed and make sure he gets some rest and some stims pronto. Understood?"

"Of course, ma'am." Drag took Kan gently by the arm and herded the weakly protesting Padawan into the girls' room, which had apparently been unanimously designated as the makeshift medical facility.

"Ember, you're in charge of dividing the team into shifts," Adriaan continued. Vyto rifled through his bag and handed her a bottle of sanitizer, which she poured liberally onto her hands as the medic proceeded to give her a check-over.

"Well, I have no idea how you can have so much energy after having been in cardiac arrest," he said finally. "All those rumors about the Jedi must be true: you've got to have nine lives or something."

"Or an unfair amount of luck," Cor added.

"I don't believe in luck," Adriaan said, handing the sanitizer back to Vyto. "People have been trying to kill me for so long, I guess I've just developed an immunity to death."

"In either case, I don't think you should be taking your chances by attempting to heal someone when you're in the process of recovering yourself," the medic said. "You could hurt the Padawan or yourself if you push yourself too hard."

"I've been pushed harder and done just as well," Adriaan retorted curtly. "I lost my Force connection for a while in the cafe, but it's coming back. Besides, the Padawans will be helping me out. Won't you, guys?"

"Yeah. Youthenizing always works!" Nic said enthusiastically.

"Youthen ––– you mean _euthanizing_?" Drag asked, his jaw dropping open. "What the ––– I thought Jedi were against mercy-killing…"

"Mercy-killing? Silly GOOD; youthenizing means we're going to make the dumb old woman Kay Lee _young _and WICKED again!" Andre said.

"But euthanasia isn't rejuvenating treatment; it's annihilating –––" Nano protested.

Adriaan held up a hand before the clone genius could continue. "Please, Nano, don't even try. You're absolutely right, of course, but unfortunately the Wicked Club would sooner believe that Hutts could ride swoops before realizing that euthanasia does not mean making a person youthful."

Vyto put the sanitizer back into his flight bag and withdrew a packet of needles. "If you insist on healing my patient, General, I advise you to take some stims, so that you won't completely kill yourself by doing this. That is, if stims are morally acceptable to your Jedi code –––"

"Oh yeah, juice me up," Adriaan said blasély, baring her forearm so that the medic could stick the needle into her vein. "I'm not entirely insane."

"Unseemly! Amoral!" Andora began, but the look on her Master's face quickly cancelled her launch into giving Adriaan a dressing-down on appropriate Jedi Knight behavior. Andora had learned long ago to pick her battles when vindicating Jedi protocol against Adriaan's rebellious mindset.

"Okay, Varactyl Clan, line up," Ember ordered. "General, which Padawans do you want to help you during the first shift?"

Adriaan flinched slightly as the needle stabbed into her flesh. "Well…Andora, since she's actually taken a Force healing class before. I don't think we should trust any of the Wicked Club with this assignment, so just assign them to a different task. Have them track Elsil on the optical EM filter."

"That would be a suitable task for them," Ammo piped up.

"Especially since she hasn't moved within the past twenty-four hours or so," Cor added grimly.

Adriaan and Ember exchanged glances. "Oh," the General said. "Is that bad?"

"Maybe she's working on a college paper," Ammo chortled.

"Peradventure, she's cogitating," Andora suggested.

"'Peradventure'? 'Cogitating'? Must you always talk like a book?" Marya demanded.

"You know what, I think we should start calling the GOOD 'The Book' from now on," Aedan suggested with a snicker.

"I think she checked out," Cor said darkly, drawing them away from their discussion of nicknames.

"You mean she WICKEDLY left the hotel?" Nic asked with blatant innocence. Everyone was in too grim of a mood to explain that "checked out" was a euphemism for "dead".

"In either case, maybe we should send out a team to get a visual on her," Ember said. "The question is, do you trust the Wicked Club to carry out the assignment?"

"If someone non-Wicked is there to monitor their random acts of Wicked behavior, I think they are qualified for this assignment," Adriaan answered. "Besides, there are plenty of other things we have to do, so we can't spare any of our team from work. We all need to be doing something."

"Right." Ember turned back to the Padawans. "Okay; Captain Andora, Nic, and Heatrian will help the General heal –––"

Heatrian's head spouted liquid fire.

"Never mind," the clone amended, backing hastily away from the lava-being. "Andora, Nic, and Sai'wer will go help General ell Talaan. The rest of you will stay here and await to be assigned to various objectives."

Adriaan stood up, as did Andora and Nic. As the Jedi left the room, Sai'wer's cousin got up to follow.

"Excuse me, sir, Sai'wer was the one assigned to this objective," Ember said, blocking Jahn Pal's way.

"I _am _Sai'wer," Jahn Pal said huffily, butting his head into Ember's stomach.

"Stop playing games, kid; this is no time for stupid pranks," the Commander said sternly, pushing the boy away.

"I'm not playing games; I _am _Sai'wer!" Jahn Pal wailed, his eyes filling with tears.

Ember turned beseechingly to Aedan. "Sir, confirm that this boy is Sai'wer, not Jahn Pal."

The Wicked King looked up, surprised. "How would I know if that's GOOD old Sai'wer or Jahn Pal?" he demanded.

Ember was put off for a moment. "Well, sir, since you're their friend –––"

"KING," the Wicked Club corrected indignantly.

"Sorry, _king_ ––– I thought that since you're their king, you would know which one is which."

"What's the GOOD old difference between the two? They're both stupid, they're both blonds –––" Nic began.

"––– They're both uniformly of ample proportions –––" Heatrian continued.

"––– GOOD Jahn Pal hasn't done anything different from what GOOD Sai'wer's done –––" Aedan resumed.

"And –––" Andre began, but the Commander interrupted him.

"Jahn Pal cut off Aedan's arm by accident, I thought," Ember pointed out. "So Jahn Pal _has _done something his cousin hasn't."

"Don't interrupt," Aedan said, flexing his droid arm, which he was immensely proud of. He had even upgraded it so that he had retractable "fingernails" which acted as grapple hooks. "What Sai'wer does, Jahn Pal does. There's no WICKED way to tell GOODS apart."

"I can tell them apart," Ember insisted. Raised to be extremely sensitive to minute details, the Commander was always meticulous about visual appearances. Nothing ever escaped his probing gaze. "Jahn Pal's eyes are greener than Sai'wer's."

"So can I," Fyre, the squad bloodhound, said. "Jahn Pal smells like grilled nerf, and Sai'wer smells like smoked nerf."

"I can tell them apart by voice," Ammo, the mimic, said. "Jahn Pal has a slight drawl; he inflects his vowels a bit deeper than Sai'wer does."

"Jahn Pal tends to breathe slower than Sai'wer does," Vyto, the medic, put in.

"I tend to judge by facial expression," Nano, the aspiring scientist, added. "I've noticed that when the cousins frown, Jahn Pal's corrugator supercilii muscle curves slightly less than Sai'wer's –––"

Adriaan, who had come back into the room to see why Sai'wer hadn't followed her, gawked with bemusement at the clones. "How did the topic turn from diving the team into groups to corrugator supercilii muscles?" she asked.

"We're trying to convince Aedan that it's possible to tell the cousins apart," Skipp explained.

"Guys, what did I say not two minutes ago? Aedan does not listen. Just give it up." She took Sai'wer by the hand and pushed him toward the door. "Now come along, Sai'wer; time to put your Force skills to work."

"For the last time, _he's_ not Sai'wer! _I_ am!" Jahn Pal shrieked.

"Okay, now that's sorted out, time to get you all divided up into squads," Ember said once the healing group had gone, and Jahn Pal had been pacified ––– in other words, Storm had taped his mouth shut. "Wolf, Vyto, Cor, and Fyre are the first shift. Skipp, Storm, Nano, and Aedan are second shift; Marya, Andre, Ammo, and Heatrian are third shift; Lance, Drag, Onor and I are fourth shift; and Klamin, Jahn Pal, Kan, and Darc are the fifth shift. Third shift goes to check out Elsil's apartment." Ember tossed Ammo the optical EM filter. "Just check to make sure she's still alive, then report back here."

"Understood," Ammo grunted.

"Since the Jedi can't use lightsabers," Ember continued, withdrawing a set of disruptor rifles and tossing it to the Padawans, "take these. Ammo, I assume you're already kitted up?"

"Dust, disruptors, dets, grapple lines, stun cuffs, tasers…" Ammo shook his bag so that it made a loud clanking sound. "Yep, got it all."

"All three of you have had your subcutaneous links installed, so you have no excuse not to keep in touch with HQ," the Commander said. "Also, the disruptors are a last-ditch resort; only use them if your lives depend on it."

"Dead GOODS have no WICKED tails!" Andre quipped.

"You mean dead men tell no tales," Nano fussed vainly. Ember held up a hand to stop the engineer before he commenced a heated debate with the Wicked Club.

"Dismissed." As the recon group left the room, Ember continued, "The fifth shift will get the first break. First shift will stay in the girls' room and keep an eye on the healers. The rest of us will be investigating the crime scene, patrolling the city, and monitoring the media coverage of the attack, to make sure we policed the plaza properly. He nodded at Klamin, Jahn Pal, and Darc. "The sleeping room will be in here, so one of you should go into the girl's room and have Kan transferred to here. I'll send four guys back here in three hours to take over the guard duty shift, so Wolf and his squad can get some shuteye. Ex and non-ex-Padawans, you four will RV at District 15 when the next shift arrives to take over. Understood?"

"Yes sir!" The Padawans chorused.

The other groups began to kit up. Wolf exhaled sharply to release the muscles he didn't know he had been tensing, and brittlely got to his feet. No one had said anything about the CPR. No one must have seen it. He was in the clear. He took another deep breath and relaxed just the tiniest bit more.

"I'll go wake up Kan and bring him in here," he said, trying to sound Type B.

He started for the door, only to bump into the Shi'Odo. He looked up at the gigantic shapeshifter, everything except the changeling's horrible, nasty smirk changing shape as he stood before the clone with his hands on his hips. "Wait, I have a question," Klamin said.

Wolf's heart hiccuped with alarm. "Really, sir, this is hardly the time for –––"

"You enjoy performing emergency medical procedures?" the Shi'Odo demanded.

Wolf took a deep breath and looked the Shi'Odo squarely in the eyes. If he was to be given a diatribe, he was going to take it like a man. "Not thorocostomys, no," he said, playing the smart-aleck. "Why?"

"Don't insult my intelligence by spitting technical terms at me, soldier boy. We both know what I'm talking about."

"Duty isn't supposed to be pleasant," Wolf snarled, dropping the act. If he had been Ammo or Rez, he might have continued to play dumb, but he just didn't have the temerity for that sort of thing.

"Yeah, but in this case I think you found great pleasure in performing your 'duty' as you call it. Funny, I don't think she even knows what you did, because I can tell you that if she did, she'd be vomiting in the refresher right now…"

Wolf lunged at the Padawan and knocked him to the floor. He jumped on top of the shapeshifter, but Klamin morphed into a lizard and slithered away before the clone could land a punch. The soldier launched himself at the changeling and flung it into the air. To avoid serious injury, the Shi'Odo was forced to shift into his normal shape. Wolf pounced on him again and raised his fist, only to be roughly jerked to his feet as his Commander hauled him up by his belt, yelling, "Check!"

Wolf let Ember hold him back. He hadn't been exactly angry at Klamin. He had just wanted to get the Shi'Odo to shut up, and unfortunately, the only way to do that was to beat the changeling within an inch of his life. There was nothing Klamin liked better than to debate, and as he was an unusual alien who had grown up in a relatively isolated society, he just didn't recognize the proper social cues which informed him that his mouth was not furthering his survival.

"Yeah, that's right, Commander. It's time you got your hot-blooded Captain reprogrammed," Klamin spat, his spittle tainted pink from his bleeding lip.

"Hey, what's with the attitude, changeling?" Fyre asked. "Have you been on glitterstim or something?"

"He's jealous," Cor chortled. At a brief gesture from Ember, Sergeant Storm slapped Lieutenant Cor on his backside.

"Yow! Hey, Storm, you better watch it. Remember I'm pulling rank," Cor muttered.

"_Check,_" Storm said firmly. "Next person who breathes through anywhere except his nose gets the shock whip." He indicated the disciplinary implement hooked to his belt. "And don't think a fancy CO title is going to save you from a sound thrashing, either," he added.

The Shi'Odo visibly paled at the promise of a beating. "Hey, it was just a joke!" he protested. "I didn't know he would freak out about it. I mean, face it, CPR _is _kind of weird…"

"Weird, but necessary," Ember asserted. "The Captain was only doing what he was trained to do. He found no enjoyment in it whatsoever. Isn't that right, Wolf?"

Wolf nodded, his fists clenched and his throat tight. "Right, sir."

The Commander stepped back, satisfied. "Right. Now you two stop being so machismo and act like gentlemen, or I'll send you both into the other room to talk to the women about kama fashions and other girly ARC stuff." Ember helped Klamin to his feet and indicated for Wolf to step forward. "Come on, shake hands."

Wolf, ever the dutiful soldier, stuck his hand stiffly out. Klamin looked at the proffered hand and bared his teeth in a grimace, morphing into a snake so that he didn't have any appendages to offer.

Ember sucked his teeth noisily, expressing his exasperation. "Come on, it's not like I'm asking you two to give each other a nice big hug and act like best buddies or something. It's just a kriffing handshake. Even strangers will shake hands."

Snake-Klamin showed no signs of evolving appendages. He wasn't going to back down without a fight. In the end, to finally break the ice, all Storm had to do was make a big show of getting out his whip. Klamin hastily shifted into a human and offered his hand, but he was not done taunting Wolf. Morphing into an athletic woman with sapphire-toned eyes and shoulder-length, flaxen hair, Adriaan-Klamin grinned coyly at Wolf, as if daring him to shake hands. Avoiding the shapeshifter's mocking eyes, Wolf squeezed the slender, pale hand and shook it hard, pretending it was Klamin's neck he held in his powerful grip. He quickly pushed the self-indulgent thought away, however, once he began to wonder what Adriaan would think if she knew he had been deliberating about strangling one of her Padawans. _Bet she already knows what I'm thinking. Don't forget she's a Jedi. A mindreader. Better watch it, boy._

He still squeezed Klamin's hand tight, though, to let the Shi'Odo know he meant business. The shapeshifter fought valiantly, but was unable to contend with Wolf's superior strength, and swiftly drew back his hand with a yelp. Muttering something about going to wake up Kan so he could finally hit the bunk, he stormed out of the room, leaving everyone else in a stupefied silence.

Fyre suddenly sniffed the air and flinched. "Phew, Drag, tell me you're not wearing cologne," he said, crinkling his nose. A genetic malfunction that had occurred during his time in the simulated womb had caused him to have an inhuman perception of smell.

"I would say it's me, but I just ran out," Darc said, unashamedly.

"I don't need cologne to be devastatingly alluring," Drag bragged. The implicit jab at Darc caused the ex-Padawan to flush crimson with indignation, but the comment didn't do much else; Drag's brother wasn't so convinced about his alleged attractiveness.

"Well, _someone _smells like star-mist blossoms," Fyre insisted.

"Aww, you're just imagining smells again. I don't smell anything," Drag grumbled. Fyre poked his nose into Drag's shirt and inhaled deeply. Suddenly he coughed and reeled back, holding his nose as his eyes streamed tears. "Sheesh, Drag, what woman would be attracted to a man who doesn't wear deodorant?"

"But I _do_ wear deodorant!" Drag protested.

Fyre stuck his nose in the air and sniffed experimentally. "Then I would suggest either buying a stronger brand, or wearing cologne as well, just like…" Fyre swiveled until his nose was pointing at Wolf. "…This guy." He opened his eyes, and his jaw practically dropped down to his chest. "Wolf?"

His brothers' gazes simultaneously whirled around and fixed on him, like target tracking reticules on a heads-up display. Ember slowly finished strapping on his greaves and walked forward to smell Wolf, his gaze growing dark with fury.

"What?" the clone Captain asked irritably.

"What's the meaning of this, Wolf?" Ember asked calmly, but the clone could detect the anger his Commander was holding in check. Ember had always been strict about military regulations, and regarded cosmetics such as hair gel and cologne unhealthy and malignant to the team's morale.

It seemed Fyre's bloodhound senses had finally gone awry, for did Wolf not own any perfume. He couldn't even tolerate being around someone who was wearing the stuff. "Sir, this is not what you think it is…" he began.

"Then how do you account for the nauseating scent of your body?" Ember demanded. He smiled grimly at Wolf's dumbfounded expression. "Your silence is very reassuring, I must admit. Perhaps you'd like me to bring Klamin back in here so you can change your statement regarding –––"

"_Shab_, sir, surely you don't suspect me of this!" Wolf yelled, blinking back confused tears. He didn't know what all the fuss was about; he didn't smell anything, and he definitely wasn't wearing any cologne. It's cloying scent always made him feel sick. He licked his dry lips and suddenly encountered the brief bitter taste of soap. Then he realized what the smell was coming from. "Sir, it's the refresher soap. I swear."

Ember's thick black eyebrows shot up. "Come on, Captain, even Rez can conjure up a more convincing excuse than that."

"It's true, sir. Wait here." Wolf ran back to the refresher and pumped the cleanser into his cupped palm. He rushed back into the bedroom and shoved his full hand under Ember's nose. "See?"

Ember barely got a chance to breathe it in before he was knocked flat on his back from the strong smell. "Phew! _Shab_, what the…I'm sorry, Captain. You're right; that's some strong stuff. Nearly singed my eyebrows off."

"We should file a complaint to the manager!" Darc suggested, having recovered from the one remark Drag had made that alluded to cologne being for men who didn't possess enough natural charisma to be chic magnets.

"Are you kidding? File a complaint to that huge blob of inanimate lard? Might as well be talking to Aedan," Lance objected.

Cor's face was in a brown study."Wolf, you never use soap when you wash your hands," he pointed out. It was true; though Wolf was no smoke-detector like Fyre, he was extremely sensitive to particularly strong scents. He couldn't use most soaps without feeling the urge to gag.

"I wasn't washing my hands, I was using it to wash my mouth," Wolf admitted, shamefaced.

Fyre glanced at him quizzically. "Smelled so good you just had to taste it?"

"Maybe he ran out of toothpaste when he was brushing his teeth," Ammo laughed.

"I was washing my mouth because I felt bad, that's all!" Wolf blurted.

"Felt bad? What about? You did the right thing, Wolf," Ember said.

"Well, I know that, but it still felt gross," he muttered.

He saw his brothers exchange meaningful looks. _Shavit, they _all _know. That kriffing _di'kut _Ember must've told them._

"Really?" Ember asked.

"Really." Wolf sat down and put his face in his hands. "I'm sorry sir, I've been trying to respect your orders, but…well, it was either avoiding potential temptation and letting her die, or doing what I was trained to do and help her live. I did what needed to be done, but I couldn't help but have those thoughts –––"

"I'm sorry to hear that, son," Ember said with a quiet smile. "It's okay, Wolf, I know you're trying your best. You just have to keep pushing your feelings out of the way. Soldiers in the GAR can't afford to have feelings." He paused. "So you tasted something bad?"

Wolf knew what the Commander was asking, but he was ashamed to tell him the truth. He hadn't exactly given serious thought to what he had been doing. It had been pure instinct which had prompted him to conduct CPR. But what he hadn't anticipated was his unconscious patient to react so…fervently. He remembered how her mouth had shifted, how she had suddenly gasped and clung closer…he shuddered involuntarily and immediately killed the memory. _Best to forget it ever happened, _he decided.

"Yes, sir, it was gross," he said finally "I had to eat the soap, otherwise I would have thrown up."

Ember suddenly slumped, as if relieved at Wolf's response. Then he straightened and slung his arm across Wolf's back, patting his shoulders sympathetically. "_Ori'jate__. _I'm proud of you, _verd'ika," _he said gruffly. Just then he stiffened, his eyes focusing on something beyond Wolf. Alerted, the clone Captain turned slowly and saw that Ember had been looking at the door which connected the adjoining room to theirs. It was not the entrance itself that Ember was staring at, but at the person standing in the portal.

Adriaan, stripped down to a black undertunic and leggings, her hair disheveled, looked at Wolf with bloodshot eyes, her irises literally bright yellow with rage. Her eyes were one of her peculiarities, one of those things which made people doubt her humanity, for they sometimes took on unusual hues, ranging from warped aureolin to somber indigo.

"Ah, _ori'vod, _he was just…" Ember began, but Adriaan cut his explanation off before he could finish.

"I had no idea I was so revolting!" she blurted, and then she stalked stormily into the other room, slamming the door shut behind her.

Everyone stood around in shocked silence, too embarrassed to meet each others' gazes. Fortunately, the awkward quiet was interrupted by the intrusion of a bleary-eyed, disgruntled Kan, who immediately plopped down on the first available bunk and went back to sleep. Klamin followed in a short time later, a smug, conceited grin pasted across his gray-skinned face. Wolf felt like ripping the Shi'Odo's mouth off his face and stitching it back on upside down, he was so ticked. He just knew that Klamin had been responsible for Adriaan coming into the room and overhearing Wolf's tactless remark.

"All goes to show," Ember said, clapping him roughly on the back, "always think before you speak."

"Like Rez," Ammo piped up.

"_Not _like Rez," Ember corrected. He took Wolf by the arm and pulled the Captain aside, his eyebrows furrowing and casting a troubled shadow over his topaz-tinted eyes. "Listen, Captain, I'm going to need you to snap out of this and get back into the soldier mindset. This attitude is unacceptable."

"Sulky!" Cor asserted. "Like little Aedan here." He ruffled the Wicked King's hair, only to jump back as Aedan snapped at him.

"On second thought, sulky is much better than insolent," Ember said, with a pointed glance at Ammo and Cor. "Just do me a favor and forget all about this," he pleaded in a whisper.

Wolf nodded, his mind numb. "Yes sir."

"And make sure that changeling Padawan doesn't remind you, either," the Commander added meaningfully. "That's an order, Captain."

Wolf knew that when Ember called him "Captain", he meant dead business. "Sir yes sir!" he rapped out crisply, conveying an enthusiasm that didn't even penetrate the first layer of his skin. He just felt so…blah, for lack of a better term. After a highly productive first twelve hours on-assignment, they seemed to get farther and farther behind schedule. Things like this shouldn't have happened; they should've anticipated a terrorist attack on innocent citizens, and they should've anticipated that a certain Jedi would lose her cool and madly rush in on a crusade to save the day, only to end up with a penetrating chest wound that could very likely kill her.

But accept and move on. That was what Ember had commanded him to do. So what if Adriaan had heard him say he thought she was revolting. It wasn't as if she had any romantic feelings for him in the first place. She simply thought of him as a mere child, her little brother. _Vod'ika, _she called him. Little brother. Of course, he had called her "big sister" first, but that wasn't the point. The point was…

"Wolf! Come on, _vod'ika, _get a move on!" Cor yelled.

Apparently, Wolf was _everyone's _little brother now. Never mind that he was the second-highest-ranking ELF Commando on the team. He sighed and followed his brothers out the door. He didn't observe the crafty gleam in the Shi'Odos eyes, the way Klamin's gaze darted to the ex-Padawan's sleeping form. If he had, he would have surely stopped and taken a more throughout examination of the situation. But as it was, he was tired, dejected, and feeling utterly stupid, so it was no wonder he didn't notice.

* * *

_Men are stupid! _Adriaan fumed as she knelt down at her Padawan's bedside. _They freak out about the dumbest things._

She still couldn't believe that Wolf had said that. She couldn't believe he had gotten upset over such a necessary thing. Mouth-to-mouth resuscitation _was _a bit awkward, but it was nothing to make such a big fuss over. It didn't matter how weird it was; it saved lives, and that was all that mattered. Adriaan expected better of Wolf.

_Maybe he's upset because he thinks _I _find such procedures morally unacceptable, _she wondered. _Maybe he's under the mistaken impression that I've taken a vow never to have my mouth touched or something._

It was quite absurd, really, but then sometimes the clones could be absurdly uninformed about such things. For example, sometime last year Rez had innocently asked Adriaan how non-clone babies were born. She grinned, remembering how the ELFs had all squirmed uncomfortably as she had unsparingly described the taken-for-granted miracle in exhaustive detail. The poor boys had given the girls wide berth after that grisly talk.

She was too hard on all of them. She kept forgetting that they were all still kids; awkward little children in young adult bodies. Her Padawans still maintained their disillusions of war being a big contest between heros and villains. They knew little of the blurred line between the two extremities; they knew nothing of those little gray areas, those choices to be made in which there was no right decision to be found. All was not good versus evil.

Resolving to patch things up with the clone Captain as soon as the casualty was taken care of, Adriaan laid her hand upon Kay's chest and inhaled deeply, unlocking a sluice within her mind and allowing a rivulet of the Living Force to enter and flow through her. Though an excellent fighter, she had never tried healing anyone before, but that didn't stop her now. Her Master had been a firm enemy of the term "You can't teach an old battle dog new tricks", and she had inherited his conviction. Jacen and Adriaan had both come to realize early on that in life, one never stopped learning.

Adriaan was far from being that unshakeable tower of fortitude, upon which her students could lean on without fear of toppling over with the structure. She would probably never be that way. She was mortal, therefore she was doomed to be flawed. It was impossible to be perfect.

But that didn't stop her from trying to be.

* * *

As the guards shut the doors of the healing room, Kan jolted awake. The Force pulsed throughout the room, the manifest energy gyrating around him with an intense bumptiousness analogous to glimmik music blaring from a rebellious teenager's music speakers, and then he realized it hadn't been the noise that had woken him up.

"_It is time," _a voice said in his mind.

He saw the Shi'Odo's eyes dart toward Darc. A pale tongue darted out as Klamin licked his dry, cracked lips. Kan felt the hair on the nape of his neck prickle, and he shuddered in the hallucinatory chill. Of course, he knew what Klamin was referring to when he had said, "It is time" His plan. The Night Falcon's plan. Klamin's plan. _Their _plan, for Kan was involved in it, too.

The clones in the other room were busy guarding, and the healers were too absorbed with Kay to take any notice. Sai'wer would be the only witness, and the nincompoop would hardly present a problem to two great strapping Padawans.

The ex-Apprentice, lying facedown on his bunk, was utterly dead to the universe as Kan and Klamin crept up to his bedside. A finger to his lips, the Shi'Odo placed a cold hand upon the bare flesh of Darc's neck. The former Padawan stirred. "What time is it?" he murmured sleepily.

"Time for a game of twenty questions," Klamin hissed.


	12. Chapter 11: Hold On To Life

**Hey guys! Sorry I haven't updated in a bit; my life has gotten super busy all of a sudden. Schoolwork has really piled up, I'm starting to look into colleges (and I still haven't sorted through the mountain of mail from colleges that I've let accumulate in my room), I've had piano competitions, taekwondo competitions (last saturday I won gold in a sparring match 7-0! Yay!), and other various things, including rehearsing the script for a spy movie my friends and I are making. I wrote the entire 67 page script, and I'm one of the main characters in the movie, and it's so much work I doubt we'll ever finish it. But enough of my hectic life...Jordin and Rez are having problems of their own right now...**

**Many thanks to those who review, and/or add my stories to their fav list, and also to those quiet ones who just like to read. I am very grateful for your support!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own_ Star Wars_, and I make no money writing any of this, but I sure wish I did! :)**

**Enjoy, and please review! (No pressure, though! :))**

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Chapter 11

_"Your public motives for joining the army are honorable, but it is not noble words which make us heroes. To my eye, a warrior is not defined by gender, race, wealth, physique, mental capacity, or success; a hero is someone who is willing to go through hell ––– even die ––– for his or her beliefs. I don't care if you're the type of girl who spends her days painting her nails and swooning over every male specimen who crosses her path, or a person who employs her time in a more useful manner ––– though I must say that if you are going to be dating one of my men then I dearly hope you are of the latter specimen ––– if your conviction to fight by your man's side is only a passing passion, as easily uprooted as grass when you first experience the taste of blood that isn't yours and become deafened from hearing the shriek of cannonfire and the screams of the dying for hours on end, then I suggest you stick to keeping your nails clean. As I can honestly say I know Rez as well as if he were my own brother, I can tell you now that if this suggestion to join the army is only a ploy to impress him, get the _haran _out of here. Rez liked you even before you had decided to look into the GAR, so don't think that you casting aside your civilian attire in favor of a gray uniform__ will make him like you any better." - _Adriaan ell Talaan to Synta Milite, via holotransmission. Dated 404 days ABG

✶ Jedi Corps Infirmary, 405 days ABG ✶

She wandered through the stygian, jejune, vacuous, pink-papered labyrinth of her mind, a detached part of her psyche marveling at the intricate workings of the maze, the eclipsing barriers of the boundless prison that she had created.

_No, you didn't create it. It happened by chance. Poor luck._

From far off, she heard the tap-tapping of a hammer upon the walls of her oubliette, a pounding that had persisted over the course of several weeks as Rinet and Eris steadily broke her cage open block by block. It was a tedious noise that made her want to tear out her hair and scream, but now it was coming to an end; there was only a thin membrane between Jordin and sanity, Jordin and freedom.

She hoped Rez would still be pleased with her, for though the Padawans had worked wonders with healing her brain, she would not leave her coma unscathed. _You may be permanently crippled, and your personality will be much different. You will be a new woman, _Eris had told her. _You will be very weak at first, and will need Rez's assistance for a long time._

Jordin, metamorphosing in her cocoon, wondered what sort of butterfly she would turn out to be when she finally emerged. _Probably just a big, ugly gray moth, _she thought wryly, smiling despite her morose attitude. _Yep, Eris was right; I've changed. My former self would have hoped to be a gorgeous Wistie__._

_ "Jordin, it is time to wake up," Eris murmured from behind the opalescent membrane, her golden voice toned down by the dark muffle._

_ You called Rez to come, yes?_

_ "He has been here for the past seven hours. He even cancelled his dinner with Synta so that he could be here with you today."_

_ Great, now you're making me feel bad._

_ "Oops, sorry. You wouldn't have felt bad a few months ago. Forgot about your personality change," _Eris said, sounding very contrite. "_Okay, hang in there. Just a few more –––"_

_Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-CLANG._

Jordin's mouth opened and screamed for the first time in weeks, and she covered her eyes as a dreadful, heavenly light filled her prison.

_"Jordin, come!" _Eris called from the hole in the bulwark. _"You're ready!"_

The girl drew back, suddenly afraid. _But what's out there? I've forgotten. I don't want to get out if I'm only going to get hurt again._

Eris huffed in exasperation, and the pallid-pink cell seemed to grow gloomier…as if that was possible. _"Forsaking this living death is worth the countless dangers you will face. Jordin, you don't have time to stay like this. The war continues. Rez is growing sick from being away from his squad. Do you want him to die just because of your cowardice? Synta has been a salve to assuage his pain, but even the most efficacious of balms lose their potency after time. Rez, Adriaan, Kan, and all your friends will perish if you keep this up. Even as we speak, your Master is crossing the threshold of death. The old Jordin feared pain, but at least she had the guts to take a stand. You're physically weaker than your former self, but you have to make up for that somehow. You have to be braver than the old you._

_ "And Jordin, dying in agony is better than dying alone."_

Jordin covered her ears and yelled, drowning out Eris' hatefully righteous voice. She didn't want to hear any rallying calls to courage; she had suffered long enough to know what her strengths were. Wasn't her resilience proof of her fortitude? A coward would have died a long time ago. So she shut Eris from her mind and ran out into the blinding darkness of the labyrinth. As she fled from the light, the prison fell away, and Jordin perceived that she was in a great city, at the top of a bridge which overlooked a spectacular plaza. The girl's eyes moved round, delightedly converging on the brightly colored shop windows, and she began to eagerly search for a way down so that she could go shopping.

Suddenly the peaceful scene was shattered. Gray smoke plumed from the top of a quaint little cafe and tore the firmament in half, waving in the ripped shreds of night like an evil insignia. Beings clothed in vivid raiment poured into the streets, screaming and crying hysterically. Jordin, suddenly finding herself in the midst of the mob, pushed her way through, silently gazing into the face of each victim, looking for someone whose name and face she no longer knew.

Just then a man with golden skin and eyes as gray as the sea shoved into her, knocking her off her feet. With a cry, she pitched forward and fell headfirst into the fountain in the center of the plaza.

Her face hit water which was surprisingly akin to moist, fluffy-white cloud, and she tumbled down into the deep blue fluid without feeling the unpleasantness of wet. When she reached the bottom which had no floor, she found that she was not alone. As her head turned, hopelessly searching the disorienting cobalt, she spied a woman crouching in the dirt, her legs tucked into her chest as she rocked back and forth, whimpering softly. As Jordin touched the girl's pale hand, the woman started and jumped back with a soft cry, her golden hair tumbling about her face, her iris blue eyes wide with terror and iced with silver tears. Jordin held up her hand to show the woman she meant no harm, but the girl continued to stare at her with frightened eyes, shielding a small bundle she clutched in her arms.

The Padawan frowned, noticing the shock of dark hair pressed against the woman's neck. "Your baby?" she asked. The woman nodded, squeezing the child tighter to her chest. Suddenly Jordin noticed a yawning cavern gaping wide where the woman's heart should have been.

"JORDIN!" Rez shouted.

_Coming, _Jordin said, though she made no move to go. She couldn't seem to tear her eyes away from the abyss in the woman's chest, which was throbbing and pulsing as if it had a life of its own, like a black hole slowly sucking the life out its host.

"_Shereshoy. _Hold on to Life_," _the woman said, but it sounded almost like a question. A frail hand reached up to stroke the baby's hair as she continued to stare warily at the Padawan.

Jordin, not knowing what the sylph meant, placed her hand over the hole in her chest and answered in a tongue she did not know. "_Broka." _Then someone grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her out of the water.

She rolled over and lay upon blinding white sand, gazing up at a dark shape which shaded her from the glaring sun. Squinting, she opened her mouth to form words, but found she couldn't say anything. Her vision growing clearer, she struggled, and with a great effort flung her arm upward to shield her face. Her fingers came in contact with locks of thick hair, and she enmeshed her fingers in it, gaining confidence and strength as she, for the first time in weeks, perceived touch.

"Rez," she breathed.

"You're awake!" he whooped. Dimly, she comprehended two smooth, warm, strong hands cup her face; then, so lightly it felt merely like a puff of warm air, she felt firm yet supple lips press to her forehead.

"What was that for?!" she choked, not sure whether to be furious or pleased.

"For being such a good little girl," Rez answered airily, almost teasing as he patted her cheek. Her pupils began to wake up and seemed to remember that they were supposed to contract in response to so much light. Her vision cleared, Jordin saw that she was not upon the shore of a beach, but on a hard bed in a clean, white room. Artificial sunlight glinted off the pristine sheets, off the wickedly curved weapons Rez had strapped upon his back, and the flaxen-toned fur of the Jedi Cripple.

"Good grief, is that you, Eris? It's so wonderful to see you again!" Jordin cried. The Lurmen smiled quietly, taking Jordin's pale hand into her own petite, furred one. The Padawan winced as the pelage seemed to pierce her palm. Hibernation had sharpened her somatosensory system so that even the touch of fur felt like needles being pressed into her flesh.

"Good to see you again, too…good to see you _awake, _that is," Eris said with a playful, un-Eris-like grin.

"How long have I been this way?" Jordin asked, her head throbbing. She could still feel the _tap-tapping _of the hammer in her head. Her speech was a little slurred, too. Something quicksilver and hot touched her hand with a dull _plop, _and she looked down in horror to see a globulet of saliva spreading across her fingers.

"Going on three weeks, I think," the clone said.

Jordin tried to put a hand to her head, but her palm ended up flopping on the sheets instead. "Three weeks?! Good grief, I wonder how our team is faring."

"Last time I checked, they were doing quite well," Rez said. "I haven't been able to keep in close contact lately, though, because they've recently been deployed on a top-secret assignment."

"Why can't you contact them?" Jordin asked, confused.

"I could compromise their objective if they receive routine messages from a GAR soldier," Rez explained.

The explanation didn't make things any clearer to her, unfortunately. "Compromise", "objective", "GAR" ––– those words were beyond her comprehension. _I wonder if I once knew the meaning of these words. I wonder what else I've forgotten._

But Rez would surely teach her what she had forgotten. She felt her heart leap within her as Rez, his face inches from hers, his hands intertwined with hers, gazed down at her with eyes that were filled with compassion and laughter and…yes, love. _But that love is for Synta, _she told herself, _He doesn't…it's not like that between me and him…_

_ "He kissed you, he held your face in his hands, he's taken care of you all this time, he's holding your hand now…what other proof do you need?"_

_ He thinks I'm a little girl._

_ "Why do you say that?"_

_ He told me so._

_ "And since when has Rez's mouth been connected to his brain?"_

Jordin scowled, wondering how she could get the truth out of the clone. Then she remembered how she had communicated to him while she had been in the coma. Tentatively, she reached out into the Force, and was astounded at how forcefully it responded to her. Though her head injury had cursed her with forgetfulness, it had also blessed her by strengthening her connection to the Force.

Formulating the question in her befuddled mind, she let a tendril of her thought snake out, and cautiously tap Rez's consciousness. But it was like punching a duracrete wall. The trooper frowned a little, but other than that did not respond. Apparently, Force-communication between the two required a great deal of concentration on the soldier's part. Jordin let go of the Force, resolving to try again later, when Rez wasn't so occupied with his own thoughts.

The Lurmen rose smoothly, programming her repulsorlift chair to take her to the door. "I'll leave you two now. There's much Rez needs to tell you, Jordin." Softly, Eris left the room, leaving the two teenagers to stare at one another in self-conscious taciturnity.

"I suppose I should, uh, brief you now," Rez said, starting to withdraw his hands. Jordin resisted, not willing to let him go of him so soon. She had wandered alone in her mind-prison for so long, it had seemed years since she had last felt the touch of a human hand. Perceiving the familiar strength and warmth of Rez's hands after having been kept from him for so long made it feel that much more wonderful. She never wanted to let go.

"Wait, I…" Her face burned for the first time in her life as she groped for a suitable excuse. "I'd like to sit up while you…brief me, if you don't mind."

"Ah, as you wish." The clone hauled the girl up to a sitting position. Every bone and muscle in her body protesting, she straightened her posture, failed miserably, and fell back against the cushions Rez had thoughtfully propped up for her.

"Thanks," she muttered, weary of her weakness. She leaned back against the cushions and closed her eyes, which had begun to hurt due to the unaccustomed, harsh glare of the electric lights. "Okay, you can begin. I'm ready."

"On second thought, maybe I should wait until you're fully rested," the boy said, his voice betraying his concern.

"Rest? You think I'm going to fall asleep on you? Seriously, I just woke up from a coma; rest is the least appealing activity right now. To Chaos with rest! I've had enough of that!"

"_Udesii, cyar'ika,_" Rez said. "No need to get all feisty on me, ma'am." Jordin thought she detected a chuckle in his voice.

* * *

Two hours later, Jordin stumbled into her private quarters, the bedroom she had been given during her training days at the Temple. As she plopped herself on the dust-encrusted mat and surveyed the nearly empty room, she recalled that it had been more than a year since she had been in her own chamber. The powdery covering was only a thin layer; she sneezed and cursed ––– another adult luxury she had never indulged in until now ––– wishing the service droids would clean her quarters on a more routine basis. At least they had kept everything as she had left it: ratty hairbrush on a battered desk, neat stack of report cards lying beside it, a datapad resting on top. Even her bright pink and purple glowlamp was still there. Jordin grimaced, pinching the matching fuschia sheets on her bed. She couldn't believe what tacky predilections she had had back then. She couldn't stand the color pink, at least, ever since her coma. It reminded her too much of…weakness. _Her _weakness, to be precise. Her mind-prison had been that color, so she loathed it because it made her remember that she was only half the person she used to be. She had required Rez's assistance to her own room. It was an exaggeration to say that she could walk. It was more like tripping along, needing the constant support of her designated living crutch.

He hadn't stayed in her room. He had said she wouldn't want him to be there when she read the letter. Jordin said she wouldn't mind, but Rez had insisted she be given privacy. He was standing guard outside her door, so he would be available should she require further assistance.

_Maybe I should just get a repulsorlift chair and be done with it all. It's no use hiding it: I'm a cripple. _

A tiny part of her, the section of her old persona, warned her to stop being so self-flagellant. Such thoughts were depressing and suicidal and self-indulgent. Rez couldn't stand outside all day. She needed to stop feeling sorry for herself and simply accept it. Eris had done it, so could she.

She tore open the cylinder and unrolled the sheet of flimsi, briefly admiring Kan's neat, clean penmanship. Her own script had always been sloppy and spidery-looking, blithely ambling off the page as her flighty mind drifted from one thought to the next. Penmanship reflected one's personality, she thought. Kan's own mind was ordered, neat, meticulous; all his good thoughts piled on top of a big black trunk, where the darker moments of his past were stored. Only occasionally was this box opened; the only key that would unlock the trunk was the sight of a clone trooper's face. As for Jordin, her mind had always been disorderly, random, cluttered. Many good thoughts, with an occasional bad memory mixed in-between. Her worst recollection had been of her former Master's death, and it was something she thought about often. She supposed this was why she was rarely sad; she always mixed good memories with the bad, so that the darkness would be cancelled out, or at least lessened, by the lighter ruminations. She had touched her wounds so often they no longer hurt her.

_Dear Jordin, _Kan began. _This sounds a little cliché, but I'm awfully sorry about your accident, but since you are reading this, I suppose this means you are well now, and I cannot tell you how happy this will make me when I first hear of this._

_ As you well know, this isn't a "congratulations on your recovery!" card. You know I never write something without having a practical purpose in mind. We ––– Klamin and I ––– have a favor to ask of you._

_ I know that you've probably been taken to Coruscant to recover. If that is so, I need you to do some research in the Jedi library while you're there. Please do not think this task is mandatory; I will understand if you refuse to do this. Though, to be frank, it is of great importance that you deliver this Intel to me. Many lives are depending upon it._

_ I will not insult your intelligence by lying to you. I want you to know that in doing this for me, you will be going against Master ell Talaan's wishes. Enclosed is a permission slip signed with Adriaan's name. Know that this is a forged letter, so that you may be granted sanction to peruse the Jedi Archives freely. You may not disclose your search to our Master or all may be compromised. Can you do this?_

_ It is nothing quite scandalous, really. Every Padawan has a right to know about his Master, and Master Adriaan has kept her secrets for long enough. I was warned that she may be an old friend of a sith cultist, a cultist who is still alive and dangerous. I pray this is not true, but Klamin suspects that Adriaan is keeping the whereabouts of her evil friend a secret. I cannot prove her innocence until I know the truth of this._

_ Adriaan has forbidden us to research, but this is something we must know. Please look up all files pertaining to Adriaan, Ra'hal Espera, sith cultists, Haak, Jan ––– the man who attacked you on Umbria, a man Adriaan seems to have had a history with ––– and the Night Falcon. To refresh your memory, Night Falcon is the self-exiled Jedi who trained Klamin and Heatrian on Zylxx. He was the one who warned Klamin of the cultist called Ra'hal. Also, researching Darc Chun-be and his Master, Twyla Arelan, might shed some light on this issue. _

_ I hope you will remember the friendship between us and do this for my sake, for the galaxy's sake. Please. I ––– we, the Jedi Order ––– are counting on you._

_ May we meet again soon. May the Force be With You._

Jordin stared at the piece of flimsi for what seemed an eternity, her mind hopelessly jumbled by post-coma fog as she gazed at each section, each sentence, each word, each letter, until it all became a useless lot of gibberish within her brain. She flopped ––– gently, remembering her head had just recovered from serious injury ––– upon her bed, staring up at the pastel pink ceiling, which, a year ago, she had freckled with a constellation of purplish heavenly bodies. After a moment, she propped herself upon her elbow and stared bleakly at her hairbrush, wondering if arranging her hair was worth the effort of getting up. Her hair was probably a horrific mess, unless some kind Jedi ––– or Rez, though the thought of him brushing her hair made her blush ––– had seen fit to comb her unruly tresses for her. Experimentally, she reached up to the top of her skull.

And encountered a bare patch of skin.

She nearly had a heart attack. _ Calm down, you're just having post-coma anxiety. Your hair is fine. _But she knew it wasn't. She had forgotten many things, but she just _knew _that hair was supposed to cover that bald spot.

_Maybe I'm aging…_she captured a strand of her hair and examined it in the sunlight radiating from her window. The fiber was bright red. She wasn't graying. She touched the top of her skull again and met with fuzzy stubble. Not right. She ran her hands slowly through her hair and found five more bare areas. She released her head from her probing touch and held up a lock of red hair to her eyes again. She didn't believe it. She wasn't imagining things. Someone…_something _had chewed her hair out.

_"I wonder what it's like to be bald?" _She had said that to Kan, long ago. _ Foolish girl, to wonder such things. _Now it was happening. It had come true. Shattered, she broke down and burst into tears.

Pounding on the door, thumping in rhythm to the tap-tapping in her brain. "Ma'am? Are you all right?" Rez yelled through the door.

She continued to cry, her uncoordinated hands spasmodically clutching and releasing tight fistfuls of her remaining hair, her precious flaming tresses, her crowning glory.

Rez burst into the room, a sharp, scythe-like weapon clenched in each of his fists; thick, shoulder-length strands of dark hair escaping from the ponytail he had secured at the nape of his neck. Rez liked to stretch regulations a bit, so he always kept his hair long. The thick mane of black hair gave him a distinct air of ferocity, and his feral grimace, flashing eyes, and aggressive stance with the razor-edged implements made him even more formidable-looking.

Jordin shrank from him, covering her eyes to shut out the frightening figure. Rez, seeing there was no danger, let out a small sigh and relaxed.

"Kid, you really shouldn't scare me like that. I'm dangerous when I get spooked," Rez said. Noticing her distress, his face darkened with concern. "Come on, kid, buck up. What's the matter? You shouldn't be crying; this is a time for joy. I know you're not that coordinated, and you've forgotten many things, but it'll all come back to you in time. So muscle up and accept it, okay, Jordin?"

She put her head in her knees and lay in a fetal position, too upset to answer. After a moment, she heard the _clu-clunk_ of plastoid sliding against plastoid as the clone knelt down, gently prying a hand from her face and stroking her fingers tenderly. "Hey, kid, what's wrong? Everything's gonna be all right. I've got you. Understood? No matter what happens next, you can count on me to watch your back. That's a promise. _Now _are you okay?"

There was almost something desperate in his tone, but as she wasn't in the habit of lying ––– even if it was to appease a friend's anxiety ––– she shook her head. "No."

Rez huffed. "Then tell me what's the matter. If you can trust me to be your crutch, you can trust me with anything."

The Padawan let out a breath and slowly took his hand in her own, guiding it up to the bare patch on top of her head. "Am I insane or is my hair already thinning out?"

The clone went dead still and silent for a moment, then exhaled noisily, his fingers tensing against her skull. "I was afraid you'd notice before it grew out," he said, his face turning red. "I'm sorry, Jordin, I didn't want it to happen, but it was necessary…"

"_Necessary?!_" she exclaimed sharply. "To shave patches of my hair off?"

"Well –––"

"Let me guess, you donated the hair to your precious cloners for lab tests! Maybe they asked you for some Jedi samples so they could start creating Force-sensitive soldiers!" she said shrilly. "You thought I was never going to wake up and miss it, did you? You thought I was going to _die!"_

"Both of us know that isn't true," Rez said, keeping his cool. "Jordin, don't tell me you've forgotten all that we've been through together. Don't tell me you do not remember how you and I used telepathy to communicate. You know what is in my heart. We're friends, are we not? I was afraid you would die, yes, but I certainly never lost complete hope. And don't worry, I would have ripped the guts out of anyone who would dare suggest using you, or any sample of you, as a lab experiment. I was a lab rat myself when I was younger, and I would rather die than allow anyone else to have to undergo what my brothers and I underwent. _You have no idea _what you are accusing me of, ma'am."

"But why –––"

"Let me explain. Rinet brought in some neurological monitoring equipment last week to check up on how damaged your brain was, and give me a precise analysis of your condition. In order to monitor the wavelengths of your brain activity, the sensors had to be touching bare skin on your skull, and your hair was in the way, so…you get the picture."

So she had had sensors plugged to her skull for a whole week. Fantastic. Jordin took Rez's hand and was pulled to her feet. She turned her head to the mirror and combed her hair with her fingers, contemplating her reflection. Her image looked a little blurry, but she could clearly see the chalk-white pallor of her skin, which contrasted sharply with the waves of copper hair sprouting from her head. She touched the bare spot again, and was surprised to find that it wasn't bald, as she had once thought. The hair was growing back, but it would be a long time before all her locks were the same length again. Besides, her reflection looked like her hair was indeed falling out. She ran her hand through the tresses again and took a breath.

"Cut it off," she said.

Rez blinked. "Ma'am?"

"Give me a buzz cut. It'll look more uniform than the uneven length, at least." She tossed her hair back and twisted it into a ponytail.

The clone was clearly taken aback. "Ma'am, are you sure?" He took the ponytail into his fist and eyed it dubiously. "You really want this off? You want it cut 'high and tight' ––– a boy haircut?"

Jordin sighed. "Not really, but I'd rather have a nice haircut than long hair mixed with bald patches."

"It won't accentuate your beauty," he warned. "It'll make you look like a boy…a boy with a girl face," he added.

"Then I'll look like a boy for a few months. So what? It might be fun," she retorted. "Besides, I've always wondered what it's like to be bald…or nearly bald, at least."

He looked down at the red cascades he clutched in his fist. "But I like your hair this way," he said, a little sadly.

"It'll grow out fast," she reassured him. "I want it to grow out even. Please, Rez. Do this before I change my mind. Don't make this any more complicated than it has to be."

The soldier looked at the oriental weapon in his hand, the hair in his other, and made up his mind. "Turn around," he said.

Jordin turned and bent her head. Rez took the ponytail and stretched it out so that it was parallel to the ground. Then, with a reluctant sigh, he raised the hand with the weapon and took careful aim.

She heard the whistle of air as the weapon cleaved through the hair and cut the fiery locks away with one fell swoop. She felt a blast of chilled breath hit her bare neck, and marveled at the bittersweet, carefree feel of her head being released from its gorgeous fetters. Her head felt very light now, freer to move about. She lifted her head to examine the results in the mirror, but Rez put his hand on her neck and gently kept her face pointed downward.

"Don't look now, ma'am; it looks pretty bad right now," he said. "Wait for me to even it all out."

"With those gigantic meat-carvers?" Jordin asked, beginning to feel alarmed. One never could tell how Rez was going to do something. It was highly likely that he was planning to give her a buzz cut with his scythe weapons.

At this, the clone laughed, and Jordin sighed with relief as she heard the sound of metal grating against plastoid as he slid the weapons into their sheaths. "No, silly girl, my Taikaido shokas are meant to cut through much tougher substances. I'd probably end up decapitating you or make some equally gory error. Don't worry; I'll use my vibrorazors, like any normal barber. That okay?"

"Fine." She heard a low _hum _as Rez turned on the vibrorazors. The rumble increased in intensity as he brought it closer to her head. She tensed, suddenly afraid that he might shave too close and gouge her skin, but the clone held her head in a vice grip, so she could not move away. She felt something purring against her skin, a little vibratory puff as something metallic glided over her skull. Soft, downy material slipped into her tunic, prickling her skin. The razor slinked over to the crown of her head, bypassing the pare patches. Orange fluff drifted down and stuck to her eyelashes, looking eerily like bloodstained snowflakes. Some landed on her nose, tickling her sensitive nostrils. She stifled a sneeze, not wanting to mess the soldier up.

After a few moments, the pressure was relieved from her neck. "Okay, click together so I can call Endex on this whole drill."

"What?" Jordin asked, feeling as if he had just spoken in binary.

"Oops, sorry. Stand up straight so I can finish this up."

Jordin straightened and faced the mirror. At first, she didn't recognize the person staring at her in the reflection. A young boy with a narrow face, wide cheekbones, and a shock of orange hair gazed at her with tired, slanted green eyes. The hair was close-cropped in some places, while in others, it stuck straight up in tufts. A tall young man with shoulder-length black hair took a clump between his fingers, and quickly sheared it off the boy's skull. Finally, everything was evened out, and the clone took a small, retractable comb from his belt and did a quick brush-over which her hair didn't really need. Then he withdrew a small bottle and sprayed it over her head. The spritzer felt cool and welcome against her skin; mist churned before her eyes, and she caught a faint whiff of alcohol. Finally, Rez took out a small, hand-held mirror, and gave it to her, spinning her around so that she could view the back job. "Look good, miss?" he drawled.

He had been right; she _did _look like a boy. But he had done an excellent job with the crewcut, and she had to admit that it felt wonderful not having a dead weight swinging from the back of her head.

"Perfect," she said, trying to sound more enthusiastic than she felt. _It'll take awhile for me to grow into the cut, _she told herself. _And if I end up not liking being mistaken for a boy, then I can wear dresses and jewelry and makeup and such until it grows long again._

"You make a handsome boy," Rez agreed. He bent down and picked something up from the floor. Jordin saw that he held a golden-red braid in his hands. His face dark as he struggled to overcome his hesitation, he fingered the red locks as if they were made of spun orichalc. "It seems a shame to just throw this away," he blurted.

Jordin understood the question he did not ask. "Of course, you may keep it," she said, taking his hands into her own and closing his fingers over the braid. "Think of it as a…token of our friendship."

His face was transformed by a euphoric light as he gazed in wonder at the anomalous, useless gift he now held in his hands. It made her wonder if he had ever been given a present before. "I shall treasure it highly…my lady," he said, bowing deeply. He was joking a little now, but Jordin found Rez always teased whenever the situation got to be a little awkward. It was just his way of releasing the tension.

"When the boys ask what this is, say it's a war trophy you earned from a fight with General Grievous," Jordin teased as he clipped the braid to his belt so that it hung down like some grisly battle souvenir.

"Yeah, I'll tell them Grievous' hair was such a pretty color I just couldn't resist," Rez chuckled. A serious expression briefly erased the smile from his face. Gently, he reached up to stroke her cheek. "It really is a beautiful color," he said quietly.

She was sure her face blushed as crimson as the hue referred to. "My hair grows fast," she insisted. "It'll be twice as long as it used to be in no time. You'll see."

Rez smiled, his eyes turning back to the mirror. He frowned, smoothing his luxurious mane. "Are you allowed to gamble?" he asked suddenly.

Jordin was surprised at the question. "Of course," she said, puzzled. "Why do you ask?"

He fingered his ponytail, then undid the clasp and shook his hair free. "I bet five creds that if I got a crewcut like you, my hair would grow out faster than yours."

"Well, of course you would; you've been engineered to grow twice as fast as me," Jordin pointed out. "No deal, Rez."

"Can't blame a guy for trying," the clone said with a grin. He ran his fingers through his mane to smooth it down. "You know, it's really not quite fair. Human males already have to get their hair cut about every three weeks or so, and in the army, you have to get it trimmed even more often. As for us poor clones, our hair grows so fast that we have to cut it almost every day. It's maddening, I tell you. I gave up with the haircuts long ago; I just let it grow long, and pull it back into a ponytail so it won't get in my face. I seriously can't see how Ember and the others can stand having such a high-maintenance hairdo."

"You're just lazy!" She razzed him.

"And you're just jealous of my luxurious mane," Rez fired back.

"It makes you look like a Wookiee!" Jordin giggled. It was hard not to like Rez. He just seemed to know the right buttons to push to make her happy again. His light banter almost made her forget about her handicap. She was feeling much more like her old self, much younger when she was around him.

Her heart was aflame, burning like a forge, sending the heat up to her cheeks. The girl with the boy haircut in the mirror had a much more sanguine, healthy countenance. She knew that it was Rez who made her feel so warm inside, he who seemed to complete her life. Her living crutch was a fine young man, indeed.

She was not one to give in to frivolous, fluffy fantasies. She was not one to swoon over every attractive male specimen who crossed her path. So she could not accuse herself of having a crush on Rez. She loved him dearly, but it was more of a sisterly love she had for him. He was too much of a big brother for her to develop any wild romantic interest in him.

"If you really think so, then I'll cut it," the clone said.

Jordin started out of her musings. "Rez, I'm not really jealous –––"

"I know, sweetheart, but it just doesn't seem right for me, a man, to have longer hair than you. Let's make this fair and we'll go as twins for a few months. We can even have a hair growing contest ––– with no betting, I promise ––– if you like. Come on, you know it'll be fun. It'll at least give you a more positive attitude about your, uh, new look."

"Are you asking my permission for you to cut your own hair?" Jordin laughed.

"I won't get rid of my crowning glory unless it's for a good cause," Rez said with the air of a martyr.

"Then make your mane into a wig and give it to someone who isn't blessed with the gift of a full head of hair," Jordin joked. "Okay, I challenge you to a contest, accelerated aging or no accelerated aging."

"As you wish." Rez then chopped off his ponytail and spent the next ten minutes fussing over his haircut, having to get the length just so, so that his and Jordin's hair would be as evenly matched as possible. Finally, the clone looked at the result critically in the mirror and laughed at his appearance. "Dang, I look like a kid again!" he commented, rubbing the top of his head.

"Isn't that what you are?" Jordin asked, using the edge of her desk to steady herself.

"Depends on your point of view," the clone replied. He bent down and tossed a long, snakelike object at her. She reached out and was astonished and delighted to find that she caught his ponytail. The clone looked just as surprised as she.

"You're getting more coordinated," he commented, removing a clip from his belt pocket and attaching his ponytail to her utility belt. He stood back, satisfied. "There, _now_ we're twins!"

"You'll need to get me green armor and dye my hair black if you really want us to match."

"Now let's not get too demanding, miss –––"

Both of them jumped as the door banged open.

A woman of about seventeen years of age, clothed in a dark velvet green dress adorned with ornate gold-thread embroidery, curly auburn tresses brushing against a bronze-and-jade belt which rested on her hips, her golden-toned skin setting off the brilliant topaz color of her eyes, stood in the doorway of Jordin's room. She inhaled sharply, her ruby-red lips parting slightly as her gaze fixed on Rez. The clone had whipped around with lightning-fast reflexes at the sound of the door opening, and, surprised, all he could do was stare back at the intruder.

_"Cyar'ika."_

Jordin's heart leaped to her throat as a fragment of Rez's thought darted out and touched her mind in response to Synta's sudden appearance. She had no idea what language he had spoken, nor what the word meant, but she could make a fairly educated guess by using the quivering bundle of nerves spilling from his being as a reference. It was neither fear, anger, nor annoyance that he was feeling; no, it was a potent, bittersweet concoction of emotion Jordin had only briefly experienced a few hours before.

_Good Force, he really does love her, _she thought. To her chagrin, she could not honestly say the first thing she felt was happiness. Rather, it was a sense of dread which washed over her as she had the revelation. Dread not because she feared Rez had picked the wrong girl ––– fierfek, she could never say that he had picked the wrong girl, for Synta was as compassionate and beautiful as was possible for the two values to be in coexistence ––– but a sense of foreboding because of the portending evil she felt when she saw them together…

_Coruscant in flames. A dark-haired woman in a dark gray uniform marching before an army of white-armored soldiers, firing upon the elderly, taking the children and the women hostage…_

_ A clone in green-camo armor marched beside the female officer._

_ "He is young; only fourteen in biological reckoning, and only seven in chronological years. Do you think he has the maturity to pick a life mate for himself already?"_

_ There's nothing wrong with Synta. She will not lead him astray; I know it._

_ "Not intentionally, no, but in choosing to love her Rez will be going against the will of his commanding officer."_

_ But what can a cripple do about it?_

"Rez!" Synta cried, her mezzo-soprano timbre pleasingly melodious. Jordin couldn't imagine such a gorgeous voice ever taking on a harsh and nagging tone.

The woman, who was so beautiful she must have had Hapan blood in her, stepped into the washed-out, pastel-tinted room, looking very oddly out of place, like a tropical bird which had just landed upon foreign gray shoreland.

"Synta!" Rez cried, betraying his delighted astonishment.

"You got a haircut!" she commented, smiling a crooked little grin as she cocked her head sideways. "Well, it is a great improvement from that ratty old ponytail. Much more masculine-looking, I must say."

"What, you didn't like my hair before?" Rez asked, chagrined.

"It's not that I didn't like it before; it's just that I like this haircut _better," _she hastened to reassure him."It makes you look…I don't know, younger."

"Isn't that a bad thing?" the clone asked.

She smiled quietly, stepping forward and placing her perfectly manicured fingers against a clean-shaven cheek. "No, keep it this way."

"I was just about to call you; I am so sorry about having to cancel our dinner plans…"

"Never mind that," Synta said quickly, brushing his excuses aside with a wave of her fingers. She was an extraordinary woman indeed; any other female would have accused Rez of cheating on her, or hiding something equally scandalous. "I got a reservation at the _Blue Eye _for dinner tonight, and then two tickets to see the newest holovid. I've gotten our whole evening taken care of."

Jordin felt a ripple of anxiety flutter, distorting the connection between her mind and Rez's. The clone seemed to feel as though he was caught between a wall and a lightsaber. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His jaws shut with a _snick _as his teeth slammed into each other. "I…uh…what holovid?" he asked weakly. The Padawan grinned and shook her head. This was a side of Rez she had never seen before; abashed, red-faced, and struck dumb. _What an asset Synta would be to Rez's squad, _she thought with a low chuckle, _she can silence him with just a snap of her fingers._

"_Alien Entity._It's a documentary on the search for intelligent life outside our galaxy. It's supposed to have a great pro-military message." She frowned when he still seemed to hesitate. "It's _really _hard to get tickets for even a matinee performance. There were only a few tickets left when I ordered…"

Rez cleared his throat and gestured behind him. On cue, Jordin stepped ––– albeit clumsily ––– out from behind the clone's shadow. She heard the red-golden girl draw in her breath sharply. Clearly, she hadn't seen Jordin in the room until that moment.

"Is this…?" Synta began.

The crippled Padawan smiled and sent out a thread of thought, connecting it to the woman's mind.

_"How can a government which declares to abolish slavery justify making drudges out of your kind? And then to go even farther by mocking your loyalty to it…"_

Synta Milite's eyes widened as Jordin replayed the image of the ride home in the airtaxi as clearly and accurately as if the Padawan had been there herself. As the aspiring-soldier's topaz eyes lifted and searched Jordin's pale face, Adriaan ell Talaan's Apprentice bowed her head slightly, placing her hand against her sternum.

_You are known unto me. Be not afraid. I am a friend to any who loves Rez, _Jordin said, her voice in the Force stronger than it was in life.

Synta's slender, perfect little hand went up to her head, her finely sculpted eyebrows furrowing in puzzlement at hearing Jordin's voice inside her brain.

_"Okay," _she replied in telepathy, still sounding a little confused.

A month ago, Jordin, too, would have been astounded if she had heard Adriaan speak to her without moving her mouth, but her mental capacity had, ironically, been broadened by her head trauma. Though she had forgotten many things of the material universe, she had acquired wisdom and strength of a strange and wonderful sort. Now, mind-speak was as normal to her as verbal communication was to humans, and accessing the Force was as easy as breathing.

_And it is not physical strength which the Order looks for in a Jedi Knight, but mastery of the Force. _A flower of hope blossomed in her heart as she realized the promise of a future as a Jedi Knight, a way in which her handicap would not keep her marooned under the stars she was trying to reach. And as she learned to believe, her eyes were opened to the beauty of her surroundings ––– of Synta's golden-angel essence; Rez's passionate, warm demeanor, which strangely reminded her of rich, dark chocolate; the way the sunlight peeked through the blinds in her dusty window and threw embellishments of golden light across her companions' faces. Even the faded pink wallpaper on the walls seem to glow with the potency of fresh paint.

"Allow me to introduce Captain Jordin Skraps, Jedi Apprentice of Master Adriaan ell Talaan, who is General of Ade Verda Brigade," Rez said, adopting an oddly formal, lilting tone. "Jordin, this is Synta Milite, my girl…I mean, the woman I told you about."

Both Synta and Rez blushed at the blunder in speech the clone had made. Jordin, diffusing the awkward situation, took a step forward and held out her hand. She nearly stumbled before she reached Synta, but luckily Rez was right there for her and caught her before she gracelessly fell to the floor. "It is an honor to finally meet you in person, Synta," Jordin murmured, clasping the girl's hand in her own frail grip.

The Hapan smiled and squeezed the Padawan's hand back, saying, "I am honored to meet you in person, also," she said. "Rez has told me so much about you."

If she noticed Jordin's masculine haircut, she was too discreet to make any comment. Jordin greatly appreciated her sensitivity; it denoted wisdom, which was unusual for one so young and so obviously well-to-do. Though Synta had opted for a dark, flowing, black-green robe for her attire, the gold constellations swirling around the bodice ––– as well as the fineness of the fabric ––– betrayed the value of the dress. Jordin longed to finger the wide, long, flowing sleeves, to trace patterns on the expensive velvet, to feel the cool silkiness of the fabric against her skin. She shook the thought away abruptly. She was becoming altogether too frivolous. She was a Jedi, and possessing expensive garments would only cause scandal.

She still wished she could wear the dress, though. Even though she had evolved into a woman, there was still a part of her personality that was decidedly childish.

"Are you still resolute in your decision considering the cadet school on Carida?" Jordin asked, bringing her eyes away from the outfit to Synta's face.

The woman nodded, shielding her face from Rez with a curtain of thick, sunset hair. "Rez's friend checked the school out, and said it is rated as one of the best military schools in the Republic. Plus, it has fair accommodations: women's barracks are separate from the men's, the facilities are clean and up to date, the faculty is highly spoken of, financial aid is decent, graduates are automatically given the rank of 2nd Lieutenant and put in charge of a half-platoon, and we're also given our own clone advisors. If you graduate in the top five percent of an honors class, you're awarded the rank of a Captain, and given an entire clone regiment…"

"Is it hard to get in?" Jordin asked, taking note of Rez's sudden lapse into silence.

"In times of peace, perhaps it is, but when the whole galaxy is at war, soldiers are always need," Synta said with a sad smile. "They are accepting almost everyone into the Academy, particularly if you are a human belonging to the upper-class, whose homeworld is in the Core. And in that case, I have a fairly good chance at getting recruited."

Rez spoke up. "The criteria is a little weird, if you ask me. Why are they looking for upper-class human recruits? Humans aren't a minority; in normal universities, they tend to recruit and provide aid for rare aliens. I've never heard of an academy that provides support for a common, generally well-to-do species."

Synta shrugged. "Whatever their reasons, I'm glad they provide aid for humans. Whatever it takes for me to get in. I even applied for a scholarship for Hapans."

"A Hapan scholarship? Why does that not surprise me? The beautiful species get all the luck," Rez groused.

"I'm not actually pure Hapan, but I figured I'm gorgeous enough so that they wouldn't figure it out," Synta said with a sly grin.

"I'm telling on you," Rez teased, though Jordin saw that his smile looked a little forced. _This is killing him, _she thought, _I seriously hope the Academy takes extra-good care of Synta and trains her well, because Rez is just going to kill himself if she dies in this war._

"Have you applied yet? Or are you still not sure whether this is the right path for you –––" Jordin began.

"Of course I'm sure!" Synta said emphatically. "I submitted an application a few days ago. Adriaan said to expect an answer sometime this week."

"So you spoke with her!" Rez said. "And, being the shameless, poster-boy General that she is, she influenced you to join the GAR! That kriffing –––" he began to swear.

"Rez, stop it! You know I don't like it when you talk like that," Synta said sharply, interrupting his cussing session. "You really need to settle down; I'm going to be _fine. _You hear me? I'll be all right." Her expression softened a little, and she stroked his cheek with her hand. "If you must know, your General neither encouraged nor discouraged me to go the Academy; she just laid down the facts, and left it for me to decide whether the pros outweighed the cons, and whether my moral convictions were strong enough reason for me to choose the military. She seems to be quite logical and calm, and she was very helpful in that regard. Besides, she said that because I'm a female, there's a good chance I won't be accepted into the academy."

"That's strange, because the army doesn't have a problem with female Jedi in commanding officer roles," Jordin pointed out. "However, I'm sure Adriaan knows more about this than I do." _Take heart, _she added in thought-speak. The two teenagers didn't appear assuaged. A gloomy mood had settled over the room, and was as hard to get rid of as a thick morning fog.

"Anyhow, I fear we have digressed from the subject," Synta said, rousing herself with an effort. "Unless your duties prevent you, Rez, would you do me the honor of being in my company this evening?"

"I apologize, but my duties prevent me," Rez said, startling both Synta and Jordin.

_Rez! _Jordin scolded him silently, shocked by his abrupt reply. She could not believe he would get so riled up over the possibility ––– _possibility_, not reality ––– of his sweetheart joining the GAR. She had never seen him so upset that he would pass up an opportunity of a free dinner in a five-star restaurant ––– a free dinner with a gorgeous date, to be exact. He was definitely overreacting.

"And what duties, pray, could you possibly have to do that would prevent you from an evening meal?" Synta asked, her voice cold and calm, ill-disguising the scorching anger that surged underneath, like a swelling rivulet of blood-red lava.

"In case you didn't notice, Captain Skraps is a…" he choked, then spit out the word as if it were a globule of poison, "…disabled veteran, and requires constant maintenance."

Jordin was instantly furious. "That I am _not!_" she cried indignantly. "You are mistaken on three counts, _ELF 1374; _I am neither Captain, nor disabled, and I most certainly do _not _require constant maintenance. I am simply a Jedi Padawan who has just recently recovered from a deadly injury."

"My apologies, _ma'am," _Rez said, his teeth bared in a feral snarl. "But whatever the case, it wouldn't sit well in my mind to leave you alone for more than two hours by yourself."

"Then learn to cope with it!" Jordin snapped.

Rez hesitated. "Or…maybe you could accompany us tonight," he said. He turned to Synta. "That is, if that's all right?"

Synta's face mirrored the scandalized expression manifested in Jordin's own. Speechless with puzzled fury, the woman struggled to answer, but drifted off into a sullen silence. Rez, emboldened by his suggestion, looked from one girl to the other with a doglike eagerness.

_Fierfek, he thinks this is the perfect solution, only he doesn't know how dreadful it is, _Jordin thought. _How sweet of him to ask, but how awkward it would be for me to accompany him on his first date! Oh, he's so naïve, but what can I do? It's not like I have any duties myself that prevent me from going with them._

"I…I'm afraid I would become exhausted early on, and would force you two to quit the evening early," she protested weakly. As she had dreaded, Rez pounced upon a solution immediately.

"Then I'd carry you! It would not be hard, considering your weight and my strength."

"But it is not appropriate…"

Rez frowned, confused. "How is it not appropriate?" When Jordin refused to answer, he looked to Synta for support. "You would be all right if she tagged along, wouldn't you?"

"Why wouldn't I be all right?" Synta choked. "It's just that –––"

"What?!" Rez asked, his face growing desperate.

Jordin balled her hands into fists and squeezed till her fingernails punctured her palm and the pain clouded her mind. A crackle of paper aroused her, and she looked down and noticed that she still held Kan's letter in her fist.

"It's just that I need to research some things in the Jedi Archives for Master Adriaan," she let out in a rush.

Both Synta and Rez looked at her, puzzled. "What would she want in the Jedi Archives?" the clone asked, his eyes narrowing.

Jordin drew herself up to her full height ––– which wasn't very imposing, especially when she was facing someone as tall as Rez ––– and said in a dignified, no-nonsense tone which immediately closed the subject, "That information is classified."

Rez opened his mouth to inquire further, yet quickly closed it with a snap. Though he was a Commando and Jordin was not in command of any troops, she still outranked him. She was not required to tell him anything if she so chose. It hurt her to hide things from him, but she had spoken the truth…sort of. It was Kan who had requested the information, not Adriaan, but as Kan had said, the information was for the good of the galaxy, and as Adriaan was part of the galaxy, finding the information would indirectly aid Adriaan.

Jordin had never hidden something from her Master before, but Kan had spoken reasonably and with deep conviction, and she knew he would not ask such a weighty thing of her unless he had complete faith in her. This both comforted her and made her feel obligated to do as her friend wished. After all, that was what friends were for, wasn't it? Besides, Kan was wise and noble, and surely would not lead her astray. It was for the greater good.

Besides, it excused her from attending Rez's first date.

"Who ––– but who will help…I mean, you should have someone escort you to the Jedi Archives. It's a long way from your room," Rez protested.

"Are you not aware that I have friends here?" Jordin asked impatiently.

The clone's face reddened. "Ah, of course. I apologize."

"Apology accepted," she answered frostily.

He still hesitated. "But…are you _sure _you don't want to come?" he persisted.

Jordin couldn't help it this time; she sighed prodigiously and rolled her eyes. "I'm _sure, _Rez."

"Well, okay. Just don't be wandering the halls by yourself." Rez took Synta by the arm and led her out into the hall. Holding the door open, he called out, "Are you _sure_ you're sure?!"

"Yes, I am _sure!_" Jordin yelled, motioned with her hands for him to shoo. "Now go have some fun, kid!"

Synta shot her a grateful look as she half-dragged the clone ––– who was relaying instructions to Jordin on what she should do if she felt faint or exhausted ––– out the door. When the couple had left and the room became quiet, Jordin sighed and fumbled with her utility belt, snagging her comlink and pulling it out. With fingers that felt clumsy and swollen and numb, as if they had been stung by bees, she dialed Zett Jukassa's number and waited for him to pick up.

A calm, boyish voice tainted by the crackling of the comm speaker blared in her face. "Jordin? Is that you?"

"Yes, I'm awake, and about time, too," she said. She paused for the appropriate amount of time, then said, "I have a favor to ask of you."


	13. Chapter 12: Nowhere Left to Hide

**Because I haven't updated in a while, I'm treating you all to a second chapter! This one's nice and long, but it's far from boring, believe me! **

**James Tosches: There's lots of head smacking going on here, so this chapter should make you happy! :)**

**DragonRider2000: Sorry for keeping you in suspense for so long! Hopefully the wait was worth it!**

**This is one of my favorite chapters, because it's just so chock-full of information about so many things. You get to learn more about Pyronites, Darc, Adriaan, Master Palgwebb (my favorite mystery character! I'm actually in the process of writing two short stories about Adriaan and her Master, Jacen Palgwebb. Anyone interested in reading them?), and this is also the time when the more brutal side to Klamin's and Kan's characters are revealed.**

**Once again, thank you to all reviewers/fans/just readers. You guys are awesome! Thanks for being so patient! I'll try to update more consistently.**

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Chapter 12

_"When questioned, a prisoner of war is required by GAR regulations to give name, service number, rank, and date of birth. The prisoner should make every effort to avoid giving the captor any additional information. He will evade making oral or written statements disloyal to the Republic and its allies or harmful to its cause." _ Extracted from section 7 of GAR reg manuals, _Resistance to Interrogation._

✶ Kuat City Hotel, 1600, 405 Days ABG ✶

He squinted and flung up a hand to shield his eyes from the blinding glare of the light that his tormentor blazed in front of his face. He let out a cry of dismay when his arm did little to protect him. His groan seemed to amuse his captor ––– _captors_, for he now noticed the shorter cloaked figure standing in the taller one's shadow ––– because the one holding the light snickered softly.

"You never were very strong, were you?" the voice, which was familiar, yet not so, said. "I constantly wonder how the Council ever got you and the Chosen One mixed up."

The captive couldn't help himself. He had always had a big mouth, and it had only become more obnoxious with age and constant use. "It's my dashing good looks. I always knew how to charm the lady Council members," he said flagrantly. He instantly regretted talking back as a tentacle snaked out of the darkness and slapped him on the face. Instead of withdrawing, the tentacle stuck, its suction cups siphoning the skin off his face. He held the scream inside his gut, his fingernails digging into his palm as he fought the urge to shriek out loud.

"You may be under the impression that my compatriot and I are going to be the ones who control this…conversation," the monster said, its sticky-sweet voice oozing like fetid gunk into Darc's ears. "But it's really quite the other way around. _You _are the one who dictates where we're going to get to in this tête-a-tête."

"I don't understand –––"

"Allow me to elaborate. As any half-wit would be able to piece together, we are here to extract information from you. You will get the final say on what methods we will use to get that information out of you ––– you can do it without prompting, or we can prompt you, however brutally as is necessary. Regardless of your decision, our curiosity will be satisfied."

Darc fought the impulse to lash out and scream that he would never submit, but caution steadied him and held him in check. Struggling to keep his heart rate down as the tentacles continued to taste him, he steeled his mind against the attack that was soon to come. "Of course, there's always the option that I _won't _tell you anything, regardless of how 'prompting' you are," he snapped.

"The reason you have mouth is so you can speak. What mortal powers can deter your tongue from its natural purpose?" the interrogator asked. When Darc didn't answer, the suction cups attached to his nose and mouth, sealing the pathway that sent oxygen into his lungs. Panic gripped the ex-Padawan as he inhaled fleshy tentacle instead of air. It wasn't that he was afraid of suffocating, he was afraid that he was remaining silent for no good reason. He didn't know exactly what type of Intel his captors wanted from him; for all he knew, they just wanted to know if he had really once dated the aubade singer celebrity Sheen Tay. Which he had…technically, if one counted taking her out to lunch after a long afternoon of recording. What if he was going to suffocate for the sake of withholding information that could well be harmless?

_"These aren't harmless people; the only sort of information they want is information you swore not to give."_

_ I can't know for sure, and is it really worth dying for?_

_ "Buckle down, man; you've experienced worse at the hands of the sith cultists during your time on Goba Shag. You will not succumb to their base methods now."_

_ I endured those torments when I was a Jedi, which I am no longer. The Force is no longer with me._

_ "The Force is always with you, Darc."_

"It's a simple decision to make," his torturer said, his voice sounding bored. "Will you talk freely or will we have to beat it out of you, letter for letter?"

Darc tried to raise his hands to beat the tentacle aside, but his arms were pinned down firmly against the bed by slimy appendages. His empty lungs flopped against his ribs; his chest collapsed underneath the creature's weight. Music ––– soothing classical and wailing jizz-bop and heart-thumping glimmik ––– and voices, and the sounds of insects and ravaged beasts, poured into his ears, the raucous cacophony swirling into his brain and down his spine, racking his body with painful convulsions. The sounds increased in clarity and intensity, until Darc could only faintly sense his captors. As if from a great distance, he heard the second interrogator shout, "He can't speak with you covering his mouth like that!" Before he could hear his murderer's reply, his perception of the kidnappers faded out entirely, drowned by a single, clear, painfully familiar voice.

_"I do not bind anyone to me. I'm marked out to be a sith, Darc; the Council knows it, I know it, my Master knew it, and Haak knows it ––– that's why he's been hunting me all these years. I've been labeled as a being that was born evil, the Chosen One of the Sith ––– or anti-Chosen one, if you like ––– and now I'm a gray Jedi, one who walks between the paths of the Jedi and the sith. I don't dare make anyone swear allegiance to me, not with my destiny already determined as it is."_

_ "No one is born evil, Ree. No one."_

_ "But I am the anti-Chose…the anti…"_

He quickly shut the memory out of his mind, fearing that his abductor would be able to read it. Grinding his teeth, he made his thoughts clear, sweeping the slate in his memory-book clean. _They will never get this out of me. I swore._

_ "I solemnly swear by the spirit of my dead Master, Twyla Arelan, to never reveal the secret we previously discussed to anyone, no matter their affiliation. I solemnly swear by the spirit of my dead Master, Twyla Arelan, to never reveal the secret we previously discussed to anyone, no matter their affiliation. I solemnly SWEAR…"_

_ "I do not bind anyone to me. I don't dare make anyone swear allegiance to me, not with my destiny already determined as it is. To be a member of the Jedi Order is to be alone; I am alone, and I do not bind anyone to me. I will not allow you to swear allegiance to me; I am evil, I was born so."_

_ Adriaan was wrong. She isn't evil. She can't face her enemies alone. I swore…_

_ "I solemnly swear by the spirit of my dead Master, Twyla Arelan…"_

_ "No one is bound to me. No one swears allegiance to me. I am ALONE."_

_ "I SOLEMNLY SWEAR ALLEGIANCE TO YOU!"_

_ "You are not bound to me; I am Adriaan ell Talaan, Knight of the Jedi Order, Master of the Varactyl Clan, Padawan of Jacen Palgwebb, and I have been marked out as the anti –––"_

"I SWORE!" Darc screamed against the tentacle held against his mouth, and the pressure was immediately relieved. He cried out and sucked in the air, only to gasp out in pain and retch as the oxygen reentered his system. He turned his head to the side, his tongue lolling out of his mouth as he panted and squirmed at the taste of bile at the back of his throat.

"_Ne pode fei qest a lu! Du volta garot lu! Epe aler'com volta odene'quel informaz?" _the second captor said, it sounded like he was speaking in Kuati. _Are the terrorists Kuati? _he wondered dimly. There was something familiar about the voice; something about the expression in it, the deep conviction as he spoke…something that, oddly, reminded Darc of himself.

_"Lo e sodo mio condrol. Du non fare tove a inderfer," _the tormentor answered sharply.

"_Se du pode ocupar lo, topo perc fare io tove ese qi, rifless-opel?" _Darc was hardly fluent in Kuati, and they were speaking much to fast for him to decipher what they were saying, but he was able to recognize the last word. _Rifless-opel. _"Mirror-skin"

The one whom the other had called Mirrorskin growled deep in its throat. "_In_ _casom du tevo interferi." _This time it spoke slowly enough so that Darc was able to translate it. It sounded something like, "In case you need to interfere." He gulped; that didn't sound too good.

A dark, bulbous head swiveled back to the prisoner. Darc suddenly found himself staring up into two baleful orange eyes. "I believe you were trying to tell me something?" it said to him, its tone taking on a sticky-sweet expression that made the ex-Padawan feel sick.

He took a shaky breath, wincing at the pain that stabbed through his body. He tried to ignore it, knowing full well that he was about to endure even more agony…his entire being quailed at the thought of dealing with more discomfort. _Fierfek, can I really go through any more suffering?_

_ "You wouldn't get hurt so often if you did not always rush into things. Take your time." _His dead Master's words offered him an inkling of to buy some more time in order to recover from the pangs, Darc rasped out, "What is it that you want to know?"

There was a brief pause as the captors contemplated his move. "Various things," Mirrorskin hedged.

"What things?" Darc persisted, fully expecting a slap in the face for his impertinence.

But the move he had taken seemed to have thrown Mirrorskin out of its brutal mindset, for it only took a step back into the gloom, sighing prodigiously. "I think it is foolish to waste time asking questions about something you will figure out all the sooner if you do not ask about it in the first place," he replied ––– yes, it was definitely a he, not an it ––– but as he said this, his voice gradually became softer and higher in pitch, and his gargantuan form seemed to shrink and take on a more humanoid appearance. Darc squinted, wondering if the pain in his ribs was making him hallucinate. At the same time, he contemplated Mirrorskin's statement, and found the creature's logic dizzying, beyond his comprehension. Adriaan would have found Mirrorskin's reasoning insipid. He grinned at the thought of her facial expression, her reaction to such an obvious declaration, and thinking of her gave him a fresh sense of hope. She wouldn't have backed down in the face of this insidious interrogator; she would have laughed and openly defied him, tormenting her tormentor with her truculence.

"I can make no promise unless I know exactly what it is that you want. I have vows I need to keep. Sorry," Darc added, knowing that he was pushing it.

Mirrorskin was quiet for so long Darc feared he _had _gone too far, even with the apology thrown in. "_Unguili-draco_, _tu_ _potere dire gli__," _Mirrorskin said apathetically, with the air of a martyr.

The one Mirrorskin had called Dragonclaw stepped forward hesitantly. Again Darc was cognizant of the second captor's solicitous mannerisms. _Who are these guys? _He wondered.

"We know of your affiliation with Master Adriaan ell Talaan. All we ask is that you satisfy our curiosity about this strange friend of yours. We might also have additional questions concerning your childhood at the Temple. Nothing classified, really ––– we're just curious."

"If it's not classified, why did you feel it necessary to kidnap me?" Darc asked, letting a hard edge creep into his voice. He flinched as Mirrorskin stiffened, the ex-Padawan fully expecting a blow as punishment for his impudence. _Good Force, man, be more polite; this Mirrorskin isn't going to put up with any gobsmack from you._

While this question left Dragonclaw stammering out an explanation, Mirrorskin wasn't so easily put out. "We didn't kidnap you," he answered evenly. "We're still in the hotel room."

_Which means I can call Adriaan for help if these guys get too pushy. _Darc was very glad to know that. Aloud, he said, "Okay, overpower me and subject me to questioning without my consent. Same thing; I don't kriffing care what room I'm in, it's still kidnapping. Why couldn't you just ask me about this in plain daylight, like any normal, nice sort of people would?"

There was a longer pause this time. "You'd tell on us," Dragonclaw offered, as if that justified Darc's abduction.

"_Siti!__" _Mirrorskin snapped, warning Dragonclaw to dummy-up.

This was driving Darc crazy. _I swear I know Dragonclaw, _he thought, _the other guy I'm not so sure about, but I'm pretty certain if Mirror-skin is someone I've met before, we definitely did not part on good terms. But I swear I know Dragonclaw, if that's really his name. _Unfortunately, Dragonclaw was doing a pretty good job concealing his identity from the former Jedi Apprentice. _If only I was still a Force-sensitive…_

_ "You are, Darc Chun-be. You were born so."_

Yes, he had been born so, but he didn't think accessing the Force was an innate instinct. In order to master it, one had to use the Force on a regular basis, which he hadn't done. He hadn't used the Force in two years, and the last time he had applied it was to levitate a bowl of fruit in midair in order to impress some girl he had taken out to dinner. Unfortunately, his one and only date ––– for technically, buying aubade singer Sheen Tay a slider didn't count as taking her out ––– had ended on a sour note, as the girl had mistaken his abilities as freakish sorcerer's powers, and had run out of the restaurant screaming that she was being attacked by a crazy old wizard. After that episode, Darc had found it prudent to bury his Jedi skills permanently if he was to gain any sort of stable position as a Galactic citizen. Besides, it had almost seemed sacrilegious to be using the Force when he was no longer a Jedi. So he had forsaken the label of a mystic freak in favor of becoming an average joe.

But he wasn't going to let himself get killed just because he had moral convictions against using the Force. Besides, if he knew who Dragonclaw was, he'd have that much of an easier time protecting Adriaan's identity.

So he took a deep breath, cleared his mind, and began to search for the rivulet inside him that he would use to channel the Force and shape it to his will.

"Why do you want to know?" he asked Dragonclaw. Not that he really cared, since he wasn't going to lay bare his precious and deadly memories as Adriaan's Padawan companion to these two whackos; he just needed something to distract Dragonclaw and Mirrorskin while he tried to discover who they were, so he would be able to warn Adriaan who was trying to uncover her secrets.

"This may seem ironic, but we want to help her," Dragonclaw said.

Darc allowed himself a short bark of a laugh, but it came out as more of a gasp as a great wave of the Force pervaded his being. He fought to control the energy before it overpowered him and the two kidnappers noticed that he was accessing the Force. "She doesn't need help from you two _cowards," _he said through clenched teeth.

"We know that," Dragonclaw insisted, pathetically eager to establish himself as a good guy. Darc didn't buy it for a second. "I mean, we know she doesn't _want _our help, but she certainly _needs _it. No offense, she's a _very _competent woman, but she doesn't know what we know."

"And we're _not_ cowards!" Mirrorskin asserted.

"She doesn't know what you know, yet I know something that she knows I know about her, and you two don't know what it is but you know that both Adriaan and I know and that I'm weaker than Adriaan so I'm your best bet," Darc said, adopting Mirrorskin's circular language.

"Precisely," Dragonclaw said, sounding relieved.

Darc turned to Mirrorskin, though in reality he was directing his energy at Dragonclaw as he struggled to break through the walls of his captor's mind and learn just who he was. "And if you're not cowards, why do you attack innocent citizens in their sleep, and why do you hide in the shadows when you're interrogating the said innocent citizens?" His mind came in contact with Dragonclaw's, and he was surprised and a little perturbed to find a strong core of Force energy emanating from both strangers. _Are they cultists? _He decided to test his hunch. "And what does your organization think to gain by terrorizing an innocent society?"

"We are not cultists! Nor are we Separatists!" Mirrorskin protested, answering Darc's next question. "We work for the Republic!"

"If you are of the Republic, as you say, why do you attack a Republic citizen?" Darc retorted. "And if you are not cultists, what type of Force-sensitives are you? Not sith, since you asserted that you work for the Republic; and Jedi would not be so ruthless, nor would they be investigating a fellow Jedi, especially one as honorable as Adriaan."

"How do you know we are Force-sensitives?" Dragonclaw asked, surprised.

"_Siti_! It is none of his concern!" Mirrorskin snapped. He leaned over Darc, his rancid breath puffing against the ex-Padawan's face. "We have answered enough of your questions. Now answer ours."

"One plus one is five," a sleep-fogged voice mumbled from the shadows. Mirror-skin hissed, thinking Darc had spoken, and a clawed hand suddenly appeared before Chun-be's eyes and raked across his face. Darc cried out as his skin broke under the sharp nails, creating deep furrows in his flawless cocoa skin. Fluid poured down his face and got into his nose and mouth, and he tasted metal.

"Klaw…you _Cat-claw, _that was Jahn Pal!" Dragonclaw shouted at Mirror-skin.

"Cat-claw?" Darc asked. Something about the name pinged his memory. He shifted his head as the drugged voice continued to mumble. "You kidnapped Jahn Pal, too? Why?"

"_We're still in the hotel room_," Mirrorskin repeated flatly, his voice as expressionless as a chunk of duracrete.

Darc suddenly felt a sense of desperation, a feeling of responsibility to his friend's Apprentice. He had no idea what possessed Adriaan to have picked such a pair of imbeciles to join her entourage of Padawans, but he figured Sai'wer and his cousin must have had some hidden talent that only Adriaan could see. Whatever the reason, Sai'wer was her Padawan, and he did not belong in an interrogation room, even if he was dead asleep. "Get that kid out of here! If you're going to 'prompt' me, I don't want that kid to see it!"

"That's why he's in here," Mirrorskin answered, the harsh edge that had crept into his voice quickly smoothing over.

Darc glared, and hoped Mirrorskin's eyes were strong enough to see his furious expression in the gloomy light. "You spawn of Jabba…" he growled.

Mirrorskin shrugged, gaining height and tripling his girth as he did so. "How am I the spawn of Jabba? After all, it is not I, in the end, who will control whether the interrogation methods Jahn Pal sees will be rated G or…R. It will be _you. _Don't want the kid's innocence to be destroyed? Then just tell us what we want to know."

Darc ground his teeth, cursing Mirrorskin to the fiery depths of Chaos for using an innocent child as leverage. But it wasn't over yet. He inhaled, then cautiously sent a thread of thought whipping toward Dragonclaw's mind.

His head snapped back, the top vertebrae of his spine screaming and grating as they jerked out in the wrong direction. Luckily, his cranium was offered the hard comfort of the bunk before his neck snapped from the overextension. He lay flat on his back, his jumbled thoughts floating before his eyes like pieces of an integral calculus equation. He concentrated on taking slow, deep breaths to calm his racing heart and take his mind off the pain in his spine. The Force abruptly receded from him, fleeing like a wild animal which had been lured close and then startled by a sudden movement. As Darc tried to recover from Dragonclaw's attack, he heard Mirrorskin chuckle.

"Despite years of neglect of your training, I'm surprised you were able to attempt that at all," he said. "I would call it impressive, but it was an idiotic move to make anyway, so count yourself lucky that I find it amusing."

Dragonclaw had learned to barricade his mind well. Just touching his thoughts had felt the equivalent of ramming into a duracrete wall at eight hundred kilometers an hour. Darc winced as Mirrorskin's clawed hand advanced toward his face again. "And you thought _I _was being brutal, Dragonclaw," the thing commented as the clawed hand smoothed Darc's brow with a horrifying tenderness. The talons gently pressed against the ex-Padawan's forehead, then abruptly melted into a soft, fluffy substance which he recognized as a furred paw. Then he realized why Mirrorskin was called so. He was a shapeshifter. One whose skin mirrored the shape of beings around it. One who possessed no shape of its own, one forced to live as an unrecognizable person whose face could change in a matter of microseconds. Despite the circumstances, Darc felt a sudden pity for shapeshifters. This pity was quickly replaced by fear as the fur turned to hard scales, and a horned face floated downward and rested by his ear.

"Your decision, not-so-ex-Jedi?" It asked softly.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the ominous gloom. He was exchanging darkness for darkness, but at least the night underneath his eyelids offered him a small amount of peace. But this time, it did nothing to comfort him, nothing to assuage the fear of pain that was so soon to descend upon him. His heart knew what he must do, but the weakness of his body held him back. What if he broke under torture? What if he died? Another evil thought assailed him. What if, instead of killing him, Mirror-skin left Darc maimed for life? Darc shuddered. Being crippled was a fate too horrible to imagine.

_"Get out of my life! I can't stand the sight of you anymore, you traitor!" Ree yelled. _He saw her strange impish eyes as clearly as if they were before him, her irises dark blue sapphires pierced with yellow elfshot. Her eyes had always, oddly, reminded Darc of a painter's palette; as if the artist who had created her had wanted to make her eyes green, but had forgotten to mix the two colors together.

_"Ree, please…" Her slender fingers curled into fists, and Darc sensibly backed away to protect himself from the onslaught. _

_"I…I hate you!" she screamed, then she turned on her heel and stalked away, every muscle in her back ramrod straight._

Was such a woman worth dying for?

No, she wasn't. If she was to save her skin, she was going to have to do it herself. Darc opened his mouth to give the word, blurt it out that he wasn't man enough to silently endure torment for the sake of an ungrateful, insensitive friend, but a foul taste on his lips dried his saliva and made his tongue cling to the roof of his mouth, rendering him speechless. He was immediately ashamed of himself. Had he become so weak that he no longer had the guts to…to do what he was about to do?

_"Come on, you're a man! Who cares if you answer a couple of questions? They will be none the wiser if you let a few beans spill onto the counter."_

_ Adriaan stood with her back to him, facing the abysmal night, her arms folded across her chest as she stood upon the brink of a chasm that yawned up at her feet, threatening to swallow her whole. She stood quite stiffly, every muscle coiled like a tense spring, ready to explode into action at the least provocation. Aside from her wary posture, she seemed elegantly poised and stoic and unafraid, the predator-like idiosyncrasies of her Master reflected in her own fierce mannerisms. _

All three of us are hunters, _Darc realized as he remembered his own nickname as "Jedistalker__" due to his skills at routing out hidden enemies of the Jedi. _Jacen was always so competitive, sweating out his and his allies' blood for every victory, and his Padawan is much like him, though she isn't as willing to sacrifice the lives of her Padawans for the sake of conquest. I wonder if that is why we did not get along; I was known as the Achtnak, one who relied on stealth to capture his prey; she was the swift and aggressive Darkhawk fledgling, one who had no need for stealth, for she had been trained from day one to recognize and counterattack any technique, style, combination, or move that was thrown at her; and Jacen was the greatest hunter of them all, the one who knew when to wait and when to strike lightning-quick…

_"The hunter's child can take care of herself."_

_ She's been alone all her life; an actress doomed to soliloquies. She'll never admit it, but part of her heart, her entire foundation upon which her life had been built, was cut down when Jacen was killed. With her Master gone, to whom will she look to when her peers and her students and Council members alike desert her upon the edge of a dark chasm? She needs someone to look after her._

_ "She needs it, but she doesn't deserve it. All her life, she has ever been short and brusque in temper with you, always seeking to slight you in every sentence she deemed meritable enough to utter. She crushed you countless times in mock-fights before the members of the Jedi Council as zealously as if it was her sworn duty to humiliate you in front of the leaders of the Order. And when the impossible happened, when you seemed to disregard all her obvious lack of affections for you, she rejected your declarations so cruelly and irrevocably, without any care for your feelings. She has been a friend who has taken everything, even your heart, from you, and given you nothing in return. Think about it. What has she ever done for you?"_

The vision came quite clearly to his mind; his nose muffled in wisps of sweat-drenched gold fiber, his eyes staring at the blinding reflection of the sun, his legs bound firmly by arms that were as long and sinewy as a champion Taikaido athlete as the tiny yet incredibly powerful body underneath him heaved his deadweight down hell-cursed halls…

_Because she gave me back my life when all was lost; because she showed me why I should live, what was worth fighting for. _

_ "And what you are fighting for, is she worth it?"_

Darc opened his eyes and dared himself to stare into the malignant yellow irises of his captor. "You won't get anything out of _me!_" he challenged them.

* * * * *

Heatrian sludged down the long flight of stairs, trying to keep his body heat hot enough so that his limbs were malleable enough to move properly, and also retaining his heat so that his external temperature was cold enough so that the stairs wouldn't melt right out from under him. Before him, Marya slinked down the flight of steps as lithely as a coiled spring, her choppy dark hair pushed behind her ears as she made her way quickly down to the ground floor. Andre moved as swiftly as the older Apprentice, but in contrast, instead of stealthily gliding from stair to stair, he hopped down ten steps at a time, letting out a muted whoop ––– because Marya had threatened to gouge his eyes out with her vestigial horns if he shouted loud enough to alert anyone of their descent ––– whenever he reached a step before Marya. Ammo bulldozed after Marya and Andre, keeping pace with the three Apprentices despite the cumbersome pack he was hauling. Heatrian's eyes swiveled around to glance at the mesomorphic teenager, assessing his physique. Obviously he had been weaned on mineral-rich rocks and fed a high-metamorphic soil diet during the critical years of his development, and then given intensity-training to maintain his build. Heatrian had been out in the galaxy for over a year, and he had only seen a few beings ––– and all were professional athletes ––– who had the same body/fat ratio as Ammo, or any trooper, for that matter. The clone, even without his plastoid armor, looked like a tank, barreling down the stairs at full speed. Heatrian felt sorry for anyone who would be stupid enough to get in Ammo's way. He looked like one of those professional Phlog wrestlers the Pyronite had once seen on the HoloNet sports channel.

Suddenly the Zabrak girl stopped dead in her tracks, segments of her hair swishing over her ears and into her eyes as she stood in mid-pounce, knees bent under her like a steel trap ready to be set back into motion. Andre came to an abrupt halt as well, though not as gracefully as Marya, tumbling in mid-leap and landing with a _ca-thunk _as his rear end connected with the hard edge of a step. Heatrian oozed to a standstill a microsecond later, shooting a warning look at Andre before his fellow WICKED cohort let out a startled scream of pain. To his credit, Andre silenced his cry instantly, though he couldn't help but roll over onto his face as he clutched his wounded behind, rubbing where the unforgiving ledge had struck it. To the Pyronite's amazement, the clone ground to a halt before he bulldozed the motionless Padawans. Heatrian always found it remarkable whenever a non-Force-sensitive managed to keep up with Jedi, even clumsy Jedi students. Until Heatrian had moved from Zylxx, his homeworld, he had always assumed that gracefulness was associated with Force-sensitivity, and therefore all non-Force-users were maladroit. Now the Pyronite knew it was not Force-sensitivity that made one graceful, but a combination of physical ability, personality, and, of course, training.

"Ow," Andre whimpered. The Zabrak spun around while somehow keeping her toes pointed towards the descending stairs. Heatrian expected the sailor-mouthed Zabrak to start cussing poor Andre out, but she merely held a finger to her lips and pushed her hair back behind her ears, indicating that she was listening for something. Heatrian, who was naturally the most adept in the Living Force, could have told Marya straight off that there was no one there, but he knew enough about her aggressive attitude to know that it would be safer to let her figure that out on her own. Heatrian's physique made it near impossible for an organic lifeform to physically harm him, but one never really knew with Marya Yon. She was a Zabrak, a species which had two hearts, if the Pyronite remembered his biology lessons correctly. If that was so ––– if Marya really had two hearts ––– Heatrian wondered why she wasn't more loving. _But perhaps organics are incorrect about the heart being a love-box. Organic beings often have ridiculous misconceptions about things they should know from the inside-out. Like their bodies, females, the universe._

Marya, her Force-scanners having correctly identified the vicinity as uninhabited by a hostile presence, resumed her half-crouched sprint down the stairs. Heatrian started after her, not wanting to get left behind, while Ammo graciously paused to haul Andre to his feet. The four GAR agents flew down two more flights of stairs before Marya halted at the entrance marked "Floor 3" She swung around and faced Ammo, her eyes questioning. Ammo pulled out the EM filter and consulted it briefly before giving a confirmatory thumbs-up. Marya hesitated for a moment longer, preparing to check the area for anything that could possibly be a threat to their mission.

_This is taking too long, _Heatrian decided. A fraction of a second later he had pushed past Marya and was halfway down the hall. He didn't need any EM filters to help him locate the cultist; he could feel the dark side of the Force pulsing through the very floors under his feet. All he had to do was follow the vein until he found the heart from which the dark matter radiated.

"Idiot," Marya hissed, almost walking alongside him. One disadvantage to being a Pyronite was that Heatrian was much slower than the average human, even when he could have his body temperature at maximum heat. He had once even challenged an obese Zylxxian ––– a species which was also naturally slow ––– to a race, only to be humiliatingly creamed by his corpulent opponent. He had had one heck of a time trying to keep up with his three companions, and even still they had had to stop and wait for him to catch up. He could tell it was getting on Marya's and Andre's nerves. Especially Marya, who had no patience for anything.

"Idiot is WICKEDER than GOOD," the Pyronite replied, using the typical response Aedan gave whenever he was being called names.

"And idiots are better off dead," Marya retorted. "Are you out of your mind? You gave me no time to check for enemies, and now you're just heading in a random direction that could very well be the wrong way."

"There aren't any enemies, and we are headed the right way," Heatrian answered in a tone that was so firm that if he had said it to any other person ––– except for the perfectly WICKED King ––– the subject would have been closed. Not so for Marya; like Aedan, she assumed ––– incorrectly ––– that she was always right.

"You only think so; what makes you think that you _know_?" she demanded.

Then Heatrian looked her in the eye and said, "For the opposite reason you do _not _know."

Needless to say, the abstruse remark shut her up pretty quick.

All four remained absolutely silent as they raced down the hallway; they were diverting all their energy into their legs, focusing on getting to Elsil's apartment as fast as possible. Heatrian led the way, following the heart pulse of the dark side, while Ammo took up the rear, his eyes glued to the optical EM filter screen. No doubt he had the screen out because he thought it altogether possible that the Padawan's radar was awry. His fears were groundless; Heatrian had never before misinterpreted a Force signal, having been attune to the mystical energy since his birth. His species were natural Force-adepts, and his friend and former master, Klamin, had the theory that Pyronites were actually conceived ––– created, were direct products of ––– the Force. If that were true, it would explain a lot about their existence.

He slogged to a cessation at an innocent, inconspicuous-looking door about twenty rooms from the stairwell. The apartment entrance looked much like the other doors they had passed; scuff marks and chips in the faded utility white paint, a battered control panel hanging with an air of insecurity on the side, a label on the door with the black Aurebesh numbers almost completely rubbed off from years of use. Marya gazed dubiously at the living quarters in question. As the Pyronite's glance darted in her direction, she pointed at the door and mouthed, "Here?"

He nodded, then raised his fists as they flared white-hot with a surge of heat. Heatrian aimed his fists at the control panel, briefly wondering if his companions were suitably grateful for a Pyronite's presence within their group. _They should be, _he thought, _because a Pyronite can open anything, from flimsy apartment portals to blasting tunnels through solid-rock mountains. We're practically invincible._

_ "Believing you are invincible makes you uninvincible," _Mitaiya, his birth coven's leader, had said to him long ago.

"Wait," Ammo spoke for the first time since their objective had been stated. Heatrian turned with some impatience, wondering why in the world the clone was delaying entry. _Ember said to get in and check her status, then get out. No hesitations, no retreats._

"What, GOOD?" he whispered irritably. "Can't you see I'm trying to blast this door open?"

"That's exactly why I stopped you."

"Are you stupid?" Heatrian asked. "This is how we're going to get in –—"

"No, it's not the way we're going to get in. There is a much more…inconspicuous alternative for entry. No offense, but I'd think even a drunken Hutt would notice two big fist-shaped holes in a door."

Heatrian contemplated doing what Aedan had coached him to do when in such circumstances ––– launching globlets of lava-spit at the offender ––– but after a moment, he decided that Ammo was right. Grudgingly, he stepped aside to let the clone do his work.

The Pyronite had no idea what the trooper did exactly, but Ammo had hardly bent over the control panel with a few discreet items clutched in his gloved fingers when the door screamed open. Marya and Ammo leaped back at the sound, but Andre and Heatrian ––– both avid members of the rednecked WICKED Club ––– rushed forward, though the clone trooper reached out at the last moment and grabbed them by their collars before they committed something foolhardy and reckless.

"Off, GOOD!" Heatrian hissed, whacking the clone's meaty fist off his rock-hard shoulder. His irritability at having been delayed faded away, however, as a multitude of warnings assailed him.

Pyronites didn't have olfactory senses, otherwise he would have certainly smelled the kayoing odor of a rotten corpse. However, he had more than enough sensors to realize that something was not right. It was not the ebb and flow of the dark side which was particularly troubling ––– for he had perceived the core of dark energy a while back ––– but the sense that the energy present was merely residual, beginning to decay.

Another thing about Heatrian's species was that they did not have eyes that functioned the same way as other species. Being entirely made of lava, it was not unexpected that their perception of the visual world was different. They depended upon the Force for survival; the Force granted them sight and hearing and cognizance, conveying to their cores ––– which, were they organic, would be a combination of a heart and brain ––– images of the events unfolding before them. Heatrian depended most upon his roots ––– his feet ––– to perceive the material world, for they were what connected him to the earth beneath him, and his brain translated the vibrations of the ground into the images human eyes saw. The Pyronites liked to think of earth ––– on any planet, not just their birthworld ––– as their mother's womb, and their feet as the umbilical cord, the lifeline which maintained their connection and therefore their existence in the universe. Heatrian had figured out that Pyronites could survive on ships, but if his species was pulled into the vacuum of space, where there was nothing their feet could connect to, they became as dead as ordinary stone.

Heatrian did have eyes ––– two orbs which varied in size and fiery hue as his emotions changed ––– but they were more for cosmetic reasons than anything else. He had found early on that organic lifeforms depended upon a being's eyes to help them interpret the person's emotions; without eyes to use as a reference point, people were often terrified of him. When confronting enemies, he liked to melt his eyes into the rest of his body, so as to augment his ferocity.

He didn't know exactly why the situation made him think of his unique physiology, but all his ruminations fled from his mind as the four of them cautiously entered the room and beheld Elsil's mangled body.

"Oh," Heatrian said. Andre and Marya simultaneously doubled over as they were racked with retching, but the Pyronite was not capable of relieving himself in such a way.

But Pyronites could be knocked unconscious, so Heatrian's body went into auto-mode and did the only thing it knew how to protect itself.

He passed out as Ammo let out a string of Huttese profanities.

* * * * *

"You made the wrong choice," Mirrorskin said, his voice coated with an oily-slick essence that did little to disguise the malice in his voice. To Dragonclaw he said, "Keep watch over the door. If you sense anyone becoming alert to the proceedings, inform me immediately."

"What are you going to do?" Dragonclaw asked, fear creeping into his expression.

"Kids, go to sleep! I have important paperwork to do!" Jahn Pal mumbled, sitting up in bed suddenly.

"What of Jahn Pal?" Dragonclaw asked.

There was a pause which was shortly interrupted by the sound of violent gagging. Darc recoiled in shock when he realized it was Mirrorskin who was making the noise. The ex-Padawan struggled, trying to get out of the vomit's projectile range, but despite the fit convulsing the rest of his body, Mirrorskin kept a tight grip on Darc. The former Apprentice cringed as an object was violently thrown out of the changeling's mouth and onto the prisoner's lap.

While Darc struggled heroically to keep down the bile that rose to his mouth, Mirrorskin calmly picked up the vomit, which turned out to be a hard cylindrical object with a blade-sharp tip protruding from one end. Blue fluid swished around in the vial as Mirrorskin held it up to the light. "Catch!" he said, tossing it to his companion, who caught it and then advanced on Jahn Pal. Darc struggled helplessly as Dragonclaw bared Jahn Pal's arm and began to probe for the vein.

"No! Leave him alone! He doesn't know anything; it's me that you want! Kill me instead!" He realized that his futile protests were only damaging his chances of defeating their interrogation techniques, for he was demonstrating his weakness when it boiled down to the welfare of his stupid Padawan friend. His surprise was therefore immense when, after the shot had been administered and Jahn Pal slumped on his cot, Mirrorskin turned his ugly face back to Darc and said, "There really was no reason to panic; that was just a knock-out shot. He'll come to when this is all over."

_Something isn't right here, _Darc realize as he stared with a mixture of puzzlement and terror at his captors, _something isn't right with this picture. If we're really still in the hotel room, the people in the other room should've heard me screaming. And if Mirrorskin and Dragonclaw aren't going to use Jahn Pal as leverage, why did they even bother threatening to hurt him in order to get me to talk in the first place?_

"All right, let's begin," Mirrorskin said, settling back in his chair. "This question is easy enough: was Adriaan friends with a woman called Ra'hal Espera?"

Darc feigned innocence as he gathered the Force in to send out a distress signal to Adriaan. He reasoned that his Force-sensitive captors had used the Force to make the room soundproof; it made sense, since it was highly likely that their methods of persuasion would cause lots of screaming. But just because they soundproofed the room didn't mean that there was no way to alert Adriaan. In spite of his concentration on gathering energy, he was alert enough for the warning bells to sound off in his brain at the sound of a name that had not been uttered in years. "Who?" he asked, and his impertinence was awarded with a fist crashing against his temple.

"Let's clear this up before I continue abusing you," Mirrorskin said, his tone even. "Are you deaf?"

Darc, whose ears were ringing and his eyes reeling at the sudden overwhelming sight of neon lights dancing before his face, answered automatically, "No."

"Good." There was the sound of skin rubbing against cloth as Mirrorskin smoothed down his tunic. "Then in the future, I advise you not to even try to pretend to be so. I have no patience repeating myself for those hard of hearing. Is that understood?"

Darc nodded thickly, secretly cursing Mirrorskin to damnation for having shattered his concentration. Again, he began to collect the Force within him.

"Did you seriously not hear my question or did you just not want to answer?" Mirrorskin inquired now. As if Darc's motives for lying mattered.

"Not want to answer," he heard himself reply, and part of him that still retained consciousness instantly regretted his honesty as Mirror-skin's scaly hands wrapped around his throat.

"Then answer the question," the changeling said calmly, though his fingers tightened around Darc's neck as he did so.

"No, she didn't know her," Darc choked out, hardly realizing what he was saying. The hands abruptly loosened. There was a long silence, broken only by the changeling's loud breathing. _I know someone who breathes like that. Could it…ah, I forgot who it was I was thinking of._

"_No_?" Mirrorskin asked, his shock ill-disguised. Dragonclaw's stance showed that he was taken aback as well. "You must be lying," the changeling mused, "because the source from which I heard that Adriaan and Ra'hal were best friends was very reliable. Though the primary source claimed that he never heard of Ra'hal having a connection to someone named Adriaan…hmmmm."

The hands unconsciously tightened around his throat again. Panicked, the couldn't help but blurt out, "But I knew her."

Mirror-skin's hands slackened, and the shapeshifter looked with renewed interest at his captive. "Really?" he asked, surprised. "How well?"

Warning lights flashed in Darc's mind, but he was still reeling from the blow Mirrorskin had delivered to his temple. Voices tumbled about in his brain, the pandemonium analogous to a crowd of people packed into a tiny room.

_"You broke the first rule of what you should do when under interrogation…"_

_ "Never reveal anything." _

_ "Your name only. Your name only."_

_ "Don't die for me, Darc; then there'd be no point of my constantly risking my own neck to save you. I don't need your help. I'm a solo act. Work and live alone. I swore."_

_ "I swore not to reveal…"_

_ "Name only. Name only. Don't bring in teachers, friends, family, anyone, because you can be sure your questioners will find those people and hurt them to get to you."_

_ "I knew Ra'hal well. She and I were best friends. I…"_

"How well, Darc?"

"Well enough." He hardly knew what he was saying; the words were coming out too fast."She's dead now." _That ought to drive them away, _he thought.

But Mirrorskin merely shook his head and answered, "That's what they all say, but you and I are not like _them, _Darc. We both know that Ra'hal dead is impossible."

"No one is invincible," Darc pointed out.

"_Improbable, _then," Mirrorskin conceded, patting Darc's cheek with excessive care, as if to show that he could have hit him, but was choosing to be lenient. "You are, of course, familiar with her survival proficiency. Few know the secret of Force resuscitation ––– the ability to cure oneself when on the brink of death ––– as well as Ra'hal did."

Mirrorskin said this to test Darc's reaction and see if the ex-Padawan, lured into the assumption that the changeling had definite proof of Ra'hal's existence, would unknowingly confirm his captor's suspicions of her survival. However, his words worked quite the opposite, instead confirming to Darc just how little the incarcerators knew of the matter. Darc was well acquainted with the knowledge that Ra'hal had never been a skilled healer; like Adriaan, she had been a hunter, a demolisher, a born killer.

"The best healer ever," he said, adding, "and her disciples are quite like her in that respect."

"Really?" The gullible interrogator went quiet, musing. "Night Fal ––– I mean, my primary source had the same skillset."

"Night Falcon?" Darc repeated. The alarms in his brain increased in pitch and intensity, but he didn't have time to investigate what the problem was. He was fully charged with the Force now. It was now or never. With a grunt he was careful to disguise, he sent a wave of Force signals warning Adriaan of his abduction.

The signals smashed and were hopelessly jumbled into gibberish as they slammed full tilt into a barrier of energy. Darc slumped as he was thrown bodily against the frame of the bunk, his jaw aching if he had just been clocked by a spin hook kick to the head.

"You never learn, do you?" Mirrorskin asked, sounding bored.

"Who are you guys?" Darc gasped with uncontrolled pain and frustration.

"Unfortunately, we don't follow the exchange Intel policy," Mirrorskin said with a tedious sigh. "Moreover, I am swiftly running out of patience with you. You have managed to draw out your answer to my first inquiry over a span of time I could have used to ask ten questions more. Furthermore, your attempts to escape have been pathetic, tiresome, and so unworthy of my interest that I cannot even be amused at your futile efforts. You should have realized that if we had soundproofed the area, we would have also anticipated your attempt to communicate to the people in the next room with telepathy. It was no challenging matter to set up a Force barrier which prevents you from effectively using the telekinetic energy to your own advantage. I am so sorry to rain on your parade, but the only way you're going to get out of this is by answering my questions as quickly as possible."

Darc hardly listened to the shapeshifter; his brain was busy connecting the dots to the puzzle Dragonclaw and Mirrorskin had cut out. An escaped snore coming from the unconscious Padawan at the other end of the room reminded him of something his brain had registered but failed to comprehend before.

"Where is Klamin and Kan?" he asked.

"Who?" Mirrorskin said, but Darc felt the undercurrent of nervousness that entered the changeling's voice. Dragonclaw too noticeably stiffened. Darc felt his inquiry had hit closer to the mark than they were comfortable with.

And it was at that moment that he finally made the connection, and cursed his brain for having been so slow before. The hints Mirrorskin had dropped; his changeling abilities, his knowledge of the Night Falcon, his mannerisms which he had failed to disguise, and of course the feeling that Dragonclaw was someone Darc knew. His senses had been aware of it, he had just been too stupid, too fogged with sleep and confusion and fuddled by Mirrorskin's abuse, to see the situation with clear eyes. Also, his unwillingness ––– no, _inability ––– _to suspect two young men he knew and respected of betraying a woman who loved them better than their own mothers had.

Dragonclaw and Mirrorskin were Kan and Klamin.

"_Klamin!_" Darc roared, tearing free of the traitor's grasp in a sudden surge of ferocity. Enraged, he groped in the darkness for Klamin's filthy turncoat neck. "You traitor!" His hands curled into fists and struck blindly, unexpectedly hitting soft, squishy flesh.

"Kan! Help!" Klamin shrieked, his voice trailing off into the shrill whine of an insect as he morphed into a flea and crawled out of sight. Kan roared and charged, a grass-green blade cutting through the shroud of night. Darc bellowed and stretched out his arm to use the Force to pull the weapon into his own hand, but to his dismay nothing happened. Disoriented, he ducked and tried to come at Kan at an angle, therefore jamming the Padawan and creating an opportunity to take the saber by physical force. But trying to use the Force first had cost him time, and it was too late. Burly arms suddenly wrapped around his neck from behind, but luckily Darc's martial arts instincts kicked in and he spiked the shapeshifter with his elbow, keeping the Shi'Odo distracted with quick jabs to the face as he let himself go limp and deadweight, groping for the changeling's clasped hands. Finding them, he suddenly pushed himself upright, slamming Klamin's arms downward as he did so, whacking the changeling's head with the back of his own as he was freed. Klamin screamed and reeled from the blow; Darc turned to finish him off, when just then a glow of green extended across his bared neck. He went very still and took a slow, deep breath, the blade just millimeters from his throat.

"One move and you're dead," Kan ––– alias Dragonclaw, the yellow-bellied traitor, that good-for-nothing, nosy snake ––– said in a cold, hard voice. Darc did as he was told and remained frozen in place, dimly aware of Klamin's hideous skin-shifting form relentlessly changing shape as he recovered from his injuries. Darc and Kan stood where they were, both breathing painstakingly slow as identical pairs of rain-gray eyes ––– one flashing angrily with hatred and resentment, the other filled with a deep-rooted anger mixed with the bitter feeling of…regret? ––– tried to stare each other down. Darc's heart was in his throat, thumping wildly, loudly proclaiming its indignation at the injustice of it all.

_Traitor, traitor, traitor, TRAITOR_! His heart screamed.

Finally, Klamin stood, a dark, snakelike appendage whipping out to wipe something ––– spittle? Bile? Blood? ––– from his mouth.

"Okay?" Kan asked without turning.

"If I could forget the problem we now have with this setup," the Shi'Odo answered huskily.

"Why did you kidnap me? Why must you inquire about dark and evil things that are best left untold?" Darc demanded. The two ignored him.

"What are our options?" Kan asked, keeping his saber neatly aligned with Darc's jugular vein. In spite of the circumstances, Darc found himself fascinated by the young Padawan's precision.

"We're going to have to…you know, what Cor said."

"Checked out?"

"Quietly."

Darc swallowed as he realized the gravity of what Klamin was suggesting. _They're talking about murdering me! _He was surprised to find himself unperturbed, unafraid of what they were discussing. It was as if he didn't care anymore.

_All I care about now is keeping Adriaan's secret safe. And I can best do that by dying with those secrets on me._

"We could…" Kan's voice trailed off, but Klamin nodded. Then Darc knew they had resorted to unspoken communication because they didn't want him to hear.

"I've never done it," Kan said after a pause.

"Neither have I."

"Might break one of us."

"Very likely."

Darc admired that despite the distraction, Kan kept his gaze and his lightsaber on the prisoner. Adriaan had taught him well.

"Working together might do the trick."

"Yes."

"Be careful," Darc cautioned, "I'm stronger than you think."

Klamin laughed outright; Kan smiled humorlessly. "I don't think so," the Shi'Odo said, his teeth flashing in the gloom. The shapeshifter darted forward, grabbed Darc by the collar of his tunic, and threw him back on the bunk. "In fact, I think we overestimated you." Klamin took out a coil of strong cord and began to lash Darc down to the cot. _I guess they gave up on interrogation, _he thought grimly as Klamin withdrew adhesive tape and began unwinding strips of it, intending to apply it to Darc's mouth. "Contact him and tell him to keep the others away until we're done," Klamin said to Kan.

_Him? _"Great, who else is in on this clown act?" Darc asked.

Klamin stared at him with eyes that were devoid of any compassion, and Darc realized that the malicious gleam had always been present in the Shi'Odo's irises, but he had just been blind to it until now. "If we had wanted you to know, we would have given names instead of using general pronouns," he said.

"True," Darc agreed as the tape was pressed firmly against his lips, silencing further inquiry.

Klamin looked at Kan, who had withdrawn to the other end of the room to contact the third party. "Well?"

"He wasn't pleased about having to distract them for an indefinite amount of time. He said he wasn't a comedian."

"Then tell him to entertain them with a tragedy."

"That's what he's doing."

"Good. Well, let's not waste his time." Klamin turned back to Darc and cracked his knuckles, thoughtfully gazing at his subject. "Before you begin, I apologize for abandoning moral principles for the sake of gaining live-saving information. I have to tell you that I have always disapproved of taking possession of other people's minds without their permission, but as you can see, this situation you have put us in gives me no choice. I really am terribly sorry that I shall have to take away something that is yours by right as a sentient lifeform."

Darc got the gist of what Klamin was referring to. Obviously, Kan and Klamin did not want Adriaan to know that they were investigating her, and would even kidnap Darc to get the information they wanted. He was so disgusted with the two Padawans that he had no emotion left to feel sorry for himself, or wonder if the brainwashing would be unpleasant, and if he would have to endure permanent side effects as a result of the Apprentices' amateurish procedure. He had no energy for any of that at all. He couldn't even think properly.

_I'm sorry, Adriaan, but what can one do against such reckless malice? My brain is my hidden sanctuary; the place where no one but I can go. If these two boys go in there, there is nowhere to hide you from their prying eyes. They will find out. I'm sorry._

"Ready," Kan said, advancing towards them. "Don't worry, this will only hurt a little," he added to Darc.

_How comforting, _he thought.

"I'll try not to maim you," Klamin agreed, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes. Kan did the same. This would have been a perfect opportunity to escape; unfortunately, Darc was firmly tied down to the bunk. It was over. Darc closed his eyes and hoped it would happen quickly.

_"No, you can't give up so easily! You were once strong, Darc; you can find your strength again. You can stop them!"_

_ But how?_

_ "Padawan, in your life you will encounter many people more powerful than you are, and they will seek to possess your brain, to break through the barriers of your heart and strip your darkest secrets naked to their probing eyes. You must not let that happen; you are entitled to your secrets, and it is an abomination for anyone to enter the sanctuary of your mind. It is very hard to withstand a mental attack, but it can be done. I have found that if I can concentrate on a specific item ––– such as a finger, a stone, a toe ––– then my mind barriers are practically impenetrable. Wandering thoughts create a mind that is easy prey. Learn to control your thoughts, and your brain will become like a steel trap."_

_ Thank you, Master. _The first volley shot out, experimentally tapping on the walls of his mind. Slowly, it ran over the stockades, seeking a crevice, a flaw in the barrier, to exploit. Immediately, Darc focused on the first object he could think of: his right big toe. A toe he had once broken while sparring with Adriaan. It was long and smooth, like the other digits of his feet ––– he was immensely proud of his beautiful toes ––– the nail was broad, a little chipped at the top, and sported an odd ridge because the nail had developed when he had been sick. He didn't dare wiggle it, fearing the motion would distract him, so he made himself content at the vision of a motionless right big toe. It was callused on the bottom ––– a flaw to be expected, for he had had a hard life, often traveling on foot ––– and the toeprint bore a combination of a tented arch and a whorl pattern. He began to memorize the marking of his toeprint and soon became blissfully oblivious to the battering of Klamin's and Kan's consciousness on the walls of his mind.

"Kriffing fierfeked dinko…" Klamin hissed. Darc's thought wandered for a fraction of an instant, but as his defenses began to weaken he quickly swiveled back to the image of his toe. Suddenly red splattered across his vision; his toe was gone, obliviated, separated from his being and sent flying across an empty abyss. The mundane image of the worn digit was immediately replaced by a macabre, graphic picture of a maimed foot, the big toe substituted by a horrid purple-red stump that gushed a fountain of black blood. He screamed and opened his eyes to see the same vision before him. Klamin crowed aloud with glee, throwing the vibroblade into the darkness after the decapitated toe, and renewed the mental attack. Darc, diverted by confusion and pain, opened his mind up to the bombardment and cowed in defeat as the Padawans' triumphant consciousnesses entered into his own and began to eagerly rifle through his memories, throwing priceless scraps of his childhood away like used refresher paper. Klamin went first to Darc's most recent memories ––– the ones of his abduction and interrogation ––– and began to shred them to bits of gibberish.

_"I'll admit, that was a pretty good attempt; but when a thought is persistent, the only thing to do is to remove it," _Klamin's mind said with ill-disguised glee.

_I hate you! _Darc screamed. He began to focus on the image of his other big toe…

It was off in a moment.

_"Good thing you didn't focus on your head," _Kan remarked mildly.

Darc tried to think of something, anything ––– of Adriaan's paint-palette eyes, of her face lifted toward the misty spray of fountains, laughing as silver droplets fused with golden hair; of the cherry-blossom blush that rose to her cheeks as her rose-petal mouth curved into a charming, clever little grin; the dusting of light gold freckles spanning her nose; her lithe arms encircling around him in a sweet sisterly hug; her sylph-like grace mixed with brute force as she playfully shoved Master Jacen into a pool of sparkling water…

Kan pounced on the last memory with the agility of the cat. _"Who's Jacen?" _he asked, trying to dig deeper into the memory. Hastily, Darc drew away, his mind automatically fixing on the stumps where his big toes used to be. Such a loss felt somehow unreal, as if it hadn't happened. In the back of his mind, Darc knew that the savage act had really been committed, but for now he was content to treat it as a mere nightmare, soon to be chased away by the morning.

Klamin started cursing inside his brain, and Darc grinned, knowing why. The Shi'Odo hadn't anticipated Darc looking at his own wounds ––– at graphical, painful images. His triumph was short-lived, however, for Klamin was far too clever of a torturer to be stumped by toe stumps.

_"If you don't stop thinking about that, I'm going to have to cut off your whole foot," _the Shi'Odo warned. Darc hastily threw away the memory and began to think of a gray rock, hoping that either Klamin would get frustrated with Darc and make a quick end of him, or would be forced to withdraw in defeat.

_"Klamin, I found something, but he withdrew the memory before I could get farther than a glimpse of it. He wants you to kill him so we can't get the impression," Kan said._

_ "What is the memory of?"_

_ "Adriaan with someone called Jacen."_

Klamin's wrath turned upon the ex-Padawan. _"Give it to us," _he said.

Darc concentrated hard on an image of his lackluster stone. _Make me._

Something cold drew itself across his lips, leaving a groove of spicy heat in its wake. A white light passed over his eyes like a comet, dematerializing as quickly as it had come. The lava from the river made across his mouth trickled down his chin and splashed upon his neck. He screamed as he tasted blood.

_But I wasn't thinking about my mouth! _He screamed at Klamin.

_"I didn't know the rules were I could only destroy what you were thinking of," _Klamin replied. _"Besides, I always suspected you were rather attached to that article of your body. Now I suppose I have ruined your chances for getting a girlfriend, for who would want to kiss a lipless mouth?"_

_ I'll never give in to you!_

_ "No, and in that case I will be forced to continue mutilating you. Next will go your eyes; do you really want to lose those beautiful gray orbs, which countless women have admired and fallen for? After that will go your nose, which, I admit, is very nobly featured. Next will go your ears, and then your fingers, and the rest of your toes, then the things that your digits were attached to, and I will shave little by little off of you until you won't be allowed to call yourself a man, or even a human. You will be a quivering useless amount of flesh, a shadow of a shadow of the Jedi hopeful you once were. While I admire your loyalty to our Master, I pity at how, despite your immense talents, you've failed at life. How very, very sad."_

_ At least I can say I was never a backstabber; at least I have remained loyal to Ree._

_ "We _are _loyal to Ree," Kan said. "We're just trying to protect her."_

_ What you don't know can't kill you._

_ "That's not what Ruru used to say."_

_ That's also not what Jacen used to say, _he thought, reminded a little late that his thoughts were no longer private. Kan snatched at his words as if they were little frail insects helplessly trying to escape getting squashed.

**"Who is Jacen?" **Kan said, both aloud and within the mind. Darc remained silent, offering no explanation. Klamin, in wyrwulf form, slowly unsheathed a long, scimitar-like claw that looked designed for the exact purpose of gouging someone's eyes out.

_Adriaan, I'm sorry, but I'm not a hero like you. I can't just sit here in silence while your own students mutilate me. I have to tell them. _Darc slowly withdrew his memory of Jacen and stepped back, resigned to his fate as the two Apprentices eagerly pounced upon the thought. They smiled over the scene, mocked the ill-disguised love Ree had for Jacen, the love that Darc had so long envied and sought to win. Adriaan had always been very generous and self-denying, but she was of the sort that could love a handful, and respect only a very few people. Those she did love she loved absolutely, with no reservations. She would have willingly died for those whom she professed an admiration for. It made Darc angry to see Adriaan's own Padawans sneering at the doglike affection she had had for her own Master. _They should be ashamed of themselves; Adriaan's sweated her guts out for them, and they haven't even come close to showing the same amount of love to her that she had shown to Jacen._

_ "Was Jacen her boyfriend?" _Klamin asked with a sarcasm that had an odd bitterness to it.

_No. _Darc choked to get the words out. _Her Master._

_ "And she…she _loved _him?" _Kan asked incredulously.

_More than you love her._

_ "_Not _more than we love her. In fact, we love her more than she loves us," _Klamin snapped. Darc stepped away from the Shi'Odo's consciousness, a little taken aback at the seething anger in his tone. His demeanor appeared a sickly, festering green in Darc's mind, and that was when he recognized the emotion Klamin had failed to disguise in his tone of voice. It was envy.

_She never hid things from her Master, nor disobeyed Jacen behind his back, _Darc said.

_"Was her love…the forbidden kind?" _Kan inquired with a touch of nervousness. Darc immediately understood what Kan was asking, but did not feel inclined to tell Adriaan's Padawan the true depth of her relationship to her old Master. It would have revealed things of a subject he had not the authority to touch. Besides, even Darc hadn't been sure just how much affection Adriaan had had for her Master, but he had always suspected it was slightly more, a bit different than the kind of love a daughter would have for her father, or a younger sister for her brother, or a soldier for her captain. It had always made him frustrated ––– jealous even ––– for Jacen hadn't seemed to notice or care if his Padawan idolized for him or not; he had always been ruthless with her, pushing her beyond the limits of her strength and verbally abusing her if she failed to meet his impossible demands. Adriaan, blinded by her affection for him ––– and also partly because she was of a competitive sort, and viewed the intense training as more of a challenging reward than a cruel punishment ––– always insisted that he had been as gentle as ever a Master could be. Anyway, Darc had been miffed because Adriaan had loved her Master so dearly she never took any heed of Darc's own secret admiration for her.

Of course, Darc did not feel inclined in the least to reveal any of this to Kan and Klamin, but these memories were the lesser of the two evils, and if he showed the Padawans these moments of his Padawan days, it would distract them from more crucial subjects of his past ––– for example, Adriaan's and Jacen's connections with Haak, Ra'hal, and the sith cult called the Chosen Race, who chose to parade under the title of the Disciples of Ragnos ––– and perhaps if he satisfied them with part of the truth, and caused them to believe he had succumbed to their methods and told them everything he knew, they would release him. How to escape the inevitable brainwashing, Darc had no clue, but what he did hope was that the brainwashing would happen so quickly Klamin and Kan wouldn't have time to freely peruse Darc's open memory banks.

_I am not quite sure, _Darc told Kan. _But I am fairly certain that she loved him with all her heart._

_ "And she said she was not capable of such a love! And she said that she refused to break one of the most important rules of the Jedi Code! Hypocrite!" _Klamin seethed. Darc viewed the Shi'Odo's rancor of his Master with amazement. He hadn't known Klamin had harbored such a resentment of Adriaan, but he could guess the heart of the changeling's disgruntlement.

_It seems she touched the topic of romantic love with you before. Was it in a scheduled class or did you ask her about it? _Darc asked with a secret smile.

_"Ask her about it? I _declared _that I would die for her, such was my admiration and love for her! But she…_she _rejected me, with all the cool courteousness of an icicle! And I had thought her heartless, incapable of loving, but now I see that she once did the same as I did, and gave her heart to her Master, even though she advised me to discontinue pursuing her because she was too mature for me! She humiliated me with her cold rejection, saying that her temper was not tolerant of such bumptious contentiousness combined with the dilettantish pursuit of inconsequential conjectures. She even indicted me of hypocrisy, and now I hear that the accuser has been guilty of the same crimes she accused _me _of! Who is the hypocrite now?!"_

Darc had never suspected this before. The Wicked Club used to tease Klamin about being partial to Adriaan, but like the others, the ex-Apprentice had dismissed their taunting as ill-founded. He hadn't known that Klamin had, indeed, once fancied himself in love with his own Master. If it had been any regular Master/Padawan relationship, Chun-be would have derided Klamin's infatuation as disgustingly inappropriate, but Adriaan wasn't quite eighteen years old yet, while Klamin was closing upon seventeen years of age. It was only natural that the Shi'Odo should admire such a bright, fiery young woman. Jacen had been young as well, though he had been eight years Adriaan's senior. This was one of the many reasons, Darc supposed, that the Council disapproved of Padawans becoming Jedi Knights at so early an age.

_Have you never thought that maybe the relationship with Adriaan and her Master didn't end so well, and maybe she's just trying to warn you not to make the same mistakes that she did? _Darc asked. Klamin, the debater who prided himself on never being stumped by a question, offered no reply.

_"You're wasting our time," _Klamin said, and his consciousness did something akin to wiping his bloody hands down on the front of his tunic. _"Adriaan's Master is no use to us unless he is still alive and more willing than you are to answer questions. You say that Adriaan did not know Ra'hal, but perhaps she had heard of the cultist from her Master? Is it possible that Jacen would be able to tell us something about Haak and Ra'hal's operation?"_

Worried for his eyes, he answered, _Yes, he encountered Haak and Ra'hal several times during his lifetime. Defeating their operation was one of his goals. Adriaan was involved on the same missions, but as his Padawan she was frequently given the less perilous parts of the objective, so she never had a face-to-face meeting with any of the top cultist leaders._

_ "So let me get this straight: Adriaan did _not _know Ra'hal personally during the latter woman's training at the Jedi Temple, but helped Jacen plot Ra'hal's operation's downfall."_

_ Correct._

Klamin and Kan appeared relieved and surprised that he was cooperating. _"Second question: you knew Ra'hal personally during her Padawan days, but were you involved at all in the Jacen's and Adriaan's plan to debunk her cultist operation?"_

_ Somewhat, but like Adriaan, I had more of a backstage job. Jacen did all the dirty work. _

There was a pause, and he felt Kan probe his consciousness, as if to test the truth of Darc's words. Chun-be forced his mind to appear calm and empty. It worked; Kan, finding no falsehood in Darc's words, retreated and allowed Klamin to resume his questioning.

_"If we went to the Jedi Temple, would it be possible for a meeting to be arranged with Adriaan's old Master, and, if so, would he tell us what we want to know?"_

_ His willingness is irrelevant, I'm afraid, _Darc told them, _because he is dead._

Klamin and Kan weren't nearly as disappointed as he had hoped they would be at these tidings, and it made him wonder what other means were available to them to acquire the Intel they wanted. _I wonder who their "primary source" is…_

_ "That is also irrelevant," _Klamin the eavesdropper said sharply. _"We are almost finished. Now we would like some more information regarding Ra'hal Espera and Adriaan during their Padawan days. Give us these memories, and we will let you go…after this little questionnaire incident is erased from your mind, that is."_

Darc already had the memories he was willing to part with to give to them, but it would make him look suspicious if he didn't give them up with a fight, as if they were truly his most dangerously important memories. Perhaps not his most dangerous, but they were certainly some of his most priceless, private thoughts. But he was willing to sacrifice them for the sake of keeping his more dangerous secrets hidden.

_No, _he said.

_"Do you want your eyes gouged out?" _Klamin asked mildly.

_Not particularly, no, but a man is entitled to his secrets._

_ "We'll leave your other memories alone if you'll just let us see the ones I mentioned."_

_ A woman is equally entitled to her own secrets._

_ "But what Adriaan is _not _entitled to is endangering the welfare of the Republic just because a particular secret is painful for her."_

_ I told you she doesn't know anything. I told you she never saw Ra'hal._

_ "For some reason, I'm having a hard time believing you," _Kan replied. _"Adriaan said that she and Ra'hal were best friends."_

_ Drat. _Darc hadn't known she had elaborated at all about that. Before they could sense his disappointment, however, he continued to speak in the same dry, light tone. _What you guys don't seem to comprehend is that Adriaan isn't selfish or stupid. She wouldn't let anyone die for the sake of her own comfort, believe me. She went through hell simply because she cared for her Master. She never thinks of herself._

_ "I agree that Adriaan is selfless to a suicidal degree, but Ra'hal is alive and dangerous!"_

_ Alive, perhaps…but dangerous, Klamin? For a boy who has yet to meet her ––– for a boy who kidnapped an innocent man for the sake of gaining information of her ––– you seem to think you know a lot about Ra'hal. Did it ever occur to you that Ra'hal could have renounced her evil ways and turned back to the light? Do you believe in redemption, Klamin?_

There was another pregnant pause. _"Of course I believe in redemption! But I find it altogether improbable that someone so evil would renounce her wickedness with such ease. It makes more sense to predict a bad person to do something wicked than something good, am I right? And if she has become trustworthy, as you allege, why is she in hiding? Why does she skulk in the shadows?"_

_ I would ask the same of your precious Master Night Falcon._

Darc said the wrong thing. The Shi'Odo's rage washed over him with all the ferocity of a tidal wave. _"You'll pay for that!" _Klamin screamed. The claw swiped through the air, and Darc felt a pricking sensation in his left eye. Then his vision became distorted, strangely narrowed. Dimly, he realized that Klamin had just gouged out his eye, but he had no time for lamentations, as the Shi'Odo renewed the attack on his mental barriers. Darc began to think of sabacc, though he was careful to show signs of weakening, lest Klamin grow impatient and pluck out the other eye as well.

Secretly, Darc allowed the Shi'Odo to attack, but in order to make his act more realistic he began to appeal to Kan, the more humane of the two. _Surely you cannot approve of these proceedings! _He cried out. _You are the first Padawan of my best friend! She sacrificed her liberties as a freelance Jedi Knight in order to save your own skin by taking you under her wing as her Apprentice. She has always praised your affability, your thoughtfulness, your noble demeanor, and I can tell that you are the Padawan whom she holds most dear. She is not one to be fooled by a facade of determination, raptness, and virtuousness, but tell me, was your easygoing attitude merely a veneer to hide the rotten corruptness of your heart? Are you truly cruel and unforgiving, Kan Dragonclaw? Adriaan would have never named you so; she has always called you "little brother" and "courageous warrior" Is this what you really are? A miscreant?_

_ "It's for the greater good," _Kan said, as if that excused everything.

_Have you ever heard of the saying, "The ends don't justify the means?"_

_ "Kan, stop talking to the idiot and help me!" _Klamin said, and Darc retreated into the darkest recesses of his brain as the two Padawans broke through. They rifled quickly through the memories, and grabbed the ones they found on top, the ones Darc had planted so that they wouldn't notice the ones he had hidden. Despite his victory, his heart twisted inside him, his mouth filling with bile as he watched in silent torment as the Padawans turned mocking eyes upon his most precious impressions, thoughts he had never shown to anyone, not even to Ree.

_He perceived Ree walking through the mist in the room of the Thousand Fountains, a gray cloak effectively shrouding herself from all eyes except for his, for he was a hunter, who saw things no one else could. _

Besides, I love her, _he thought, _and people were right when they say that those whom you love are never hidden for long from you.

Klamin and Kan laughed and howled with glee as they perused farther into the memory. Darc was ultimately humiliated when, upon approaching Adriaan, it wasn't to find her alone, for Jacen appeared at that instant right behind her.

_"Ah, Padawan Chun-be," Jacen said with a cold nod, which hardly welcomed Darc. Adriaan didn't even turn her head to greet Darc; she was already animatedly relating to her beloved Master the sparring match she had had that day, giving a play-by-play account of how she had beaten such-and-such Jedi Knight, and had lost to such-and-such Jedi Master. Jacen listened with even more zeal than the person who told the story, breaking in from time to time for his Padawan to give him the particular details of a situation, but Darc found he did not share their sentiments. Green with envy and seething with indignation for not being acknowledged by the person whom he loved best, he turned on his heel and stalked out., the raised voices of the Master and Padawan echoing tauntingly in his ears._

_ "Well, it seems we both made the same mistake, by falling for someone who didn't care a datarie for us," _Klamin chortled. _"I'm ashamed to admit the sentiments I once had for her! She is more conceited than I thought! Imagine rejecting everyone except for the person who only thought of her as his nek battle dog, something that needed to be trained and pushed past her endurance so that she could become the fighter he wanted. Ah! This makes me laugh!"_

_ "But it does not get us any closer to knowing more about Haak and Ra'hal," _Kan reminded him.

_"Of course, you're absolutely right. Okay, pull out the next one."_

They pulled out one after the other, laughing at the pain and frustration Darc frequently experienced in his memories of Adriaan. Despite the comic relief, the Padawans were able to learn much about the Master that had trained their own, and in a way that made Darc happy, for he had disapproved of Adriaan's decision to withhold stories of Jacen from her Padawans. They found particular amusement in the one memory of Adriaan's first encounter with Master Palgwebb; he had come to Darc's and Adriaan's youngling class as the substitute instructor, and had begun the day by presenting a Jedi Knight challenge to the younglings, in which the Jedi students were faced off with an equal amount of Knights in a Taikaido sparring tournament. Any Knights who lost were threatened with six hundred chinups in addition to having to wear Padawan braids until they had regained their honor; if a Padawan lost, he or she was punished with just three hundred consecutive chinups. Adriaan had been the only one who had come out on top in the battle, but to her chagrin, an unimpressed Jacen had next pitted her against her entire class. Against all expectations, Adriaan cleverly beat them all, and fairly dragged herself over to Master Palgwebb in full expectation of his astonishment at such an impressive display. Not so with Master Jacen; he said that since it was quite apparent that neither the Jedi Knights nor the Padawan class had challenged her enough, she would next face him in a battle. Even though she was thoroughly exhausted, she agreed to the fight, only to be lying on the floor in defeat thirty seconds later. Jacen had gloated over his fallen opponent, humiliated her by describing her as a mediocre student, gave her a dressing-down for the minuscule mistakes she had made, and then had stormed off in apparent disinterest of her. Great was everyone's surprise when Jacen announced his desire of Apprenticing the ten-year-old Ree…_Adriaan ell Talaan _as his Padawan, and even more astonishing was her agreement.

"_She was chosen at age _ten_? I always thought she had been younger than that," _Kan said.

_"Yes, why was she chosen so late? She was surely one of the most skilled students of her time," _Klamin agreed. _"I would have thought she would have been seven or eight."_

Darc well knew the answer why, but there was no conceivable way he could give them the honest explanation. Adriaan had forbidden mention of the anti-Chosen One prophesy ever since her Knighting, and rightly so; she had had enough of the Jedi Order's suspicions of her in her Padawan days. She had long since proven herself to have the tenacity to withstand the lure of the dark side, and did not want to hear again of such a prophesy which condemned her to damnation.

_Ten years old is actually quite a young age to be chosen, _he explained instead, and didn't feel any guilt in saying it, for it was part of the truth.

The Padawans ploughed their way down to the bottom of the pile. Here Darc held his breath, for these were the memories which he had falsely labeled. The first was a memory of Vati, a Chalactan Padawan whom Darc and Adriaan had been good friends with. She had been one of the slaves who had formed the core resistance of the Goba Shag revolt, a rebellion which Adriaan and Darc had also led. As she had been involved in the revolution, had been a fellow Apprentice, and was also conveniently yet sadly dead, Darc decided to label her image as Ra'hal's. Klamin and Kan would be none the wiser, and their insatiable curiosity would be satisfied by the white lie, for Darc had firsthand knowledge that Ra'hal was no longer a danger to the Jedi Order.

_"_That _is the murderer of my parents?" _Klamin asked, his voice filled with hatred as he beheld the memory of the innocent Vati playing a game of bolo-ball with Adriaan, Darc, and Jan, who had just recently been killed by Adriaan during the mission to Umbria. Jan had apparently died years before in a speeder accident, but that had just been a coverup story to hide his abduction. The Chosen Race, the sith cult that had plagued Adriaan and Darc since their childhood, was in the habit of kidnapping Force-sensitive children and enslaving them to the dark side, and that was just what they did to Jan. The brainwashed Jan had attacked Jordin Skraps on Umbria and nearly killed her. Adriaan had arrived to the rescue in the nick of time, unwittingly killing Jordin's attacker, whom she later found out to be her long-lost friend.

_You think Ra'hal murdered…your parents? _Suddenly Darc realized the heart of the matter, the core of Klamin's motivation. Revenge. It wasn't the welfare of the galaxy he was concerned about; it was vengeance for the dead.

_"Never mind," _Klamin said, and to Darc's shock the Shi'Odo lifted the image and smashed it against the walls of his mind. Chun-be screamed as the memory splintered into indiscernible fragments and stabbed into his consciousness, a rift tearing through his brain as the thought was forcibly ripped out of him and wiped from existence. Then the agony subsided, and he forgot it, forgot to even regret the loss of the recollection of a friend. His memories of Vati were as dead as she was.

Klamin, indifferent to the heinous act he committed, picked up the last memory, an image of a hard-faced man, a member of the Chosen Race, who had had the honor of being Darc's first kill. The two Padawans peered eagerly at the vision of the man who was angrily debating with Jacen Palgwebb, who stood protectively in front of Darc and his friend Jan.

_"That's the guy who tried to kill Jordin on Umbria!" _Kan said, pointing.

_Yes, _Darc said wearily. _He used to be a Padawan, like myself. But like you, he became corrupted in his pursuit of dark mysteries._

The two interrogators ignored his warning, however, becoming thoroughly engrossed with the image of "Haak" _"Who's that?" _Klamin asked.

_Haak, _Darc choked.

There was a pause that stretched for a moment too long. _"I thought you said you never saw him." _Klamin's tone was slightly accusatory, and filled with suspicion.

_No, I said I never knew him _personally. _I once saw him, though._

_ "He looks the part of a sith," _Kan commented.

Darc had to agree. _His hands are stained with the blood of thousands._

He stood by in resignation, in desolation, almost no longer caring if Klamin and Kan weren't satisfied with the visions he had given them. But the memories of Darc's love and admiration for Adriaan had amused them greatly, and they did not spend much longer with him, except to torment him further about his futile pursuit of their Master. Klamin was especially virulent in his taunting ––– no doubt his resentment of Adriaan's rejection gave him the energy to abuse Darc with such zeal ––– but Kan's teasing lasted for only a moment. Preoccupied, he soon withdrew in a brown study, leaving his mirror-skinned compatriot to continue the interrogation, which now consisted entirely of mental torture for the sole reason of Klamin's gratification.

_I had no idea he carried such hate in his heart. I fear the galaxy has been unkind to him._

_ "The galaxy was unkind to you also, but you are not like that. And the universe was cruelest to Adriaan, but all flagellation she directs upon herself. He cannot put the sole blame of his pain and dissatisfaction upon the evils which he has endured, for all beings must endure evil. They are the trials which add spice to our lives, which help us see the extent of our abilities. They can either make or break a man; it is the person on trial who makes the decision whether to succeed or fail."_

_ And that is why I do not hate him. I pity him._

Darc was quiet, sitting upon his hidden box of secrets as he patiently waited for the Shi'Odo to tire of tormenting him. When Klamin was finished, he shredded the memories he had viewed, then erased Darc's memory of the entire incident from his mind. Then he withdrew contact from Darc, and Chun-be saw the face of Mirrorskin no more. He lay upon the verge of death and consciousness, barely perceiving dark shapes moving about the room, hazy voices conferring with one another.

"…Make it look like an attack…"

Dragonclaw suddenly appeared, his rain-gray eyes pale with something like regret as he knelt by Darc's side. A shaking, sweaty hand pressed against his throbbing forehead, and overhead, he heard the Padawan whisper, "Sleep now; you have done enough for us, Jedistalker…"

A feeling of bliss overcame him, and as he drifted off into the emptiness of dreamless sleep, he heard himself say, "I'm sorry, Adriaan…except I don't know what I'm sorry for…"

And when his eyes closed, part of what made him Darc died inside him.

* * *

**So, creepy, huh? I came up with the title of the chapter because while I was finishing the final draft, I realized that there were two instances in this chapter that someone was trying to escape, but there was nowhere left to go. (I.E. - Elsil is killed in the sanctuary of her apartment, while Darc flees to the safety of his own thoughts only to find that Klamin and Kan can even get through the barriers of his mind.) Hope y'all liked it!**


	14. Chapter 13: Indifference, Not Hate

**Hey guys! Wow, I really haven't updated in a while, and I apologize for that! I've been really busy with schoolwork and college research and taekwondo training, so I haven't had much time for fun writing. I'll try to get back on top of my _Galactic War_ schedule (Yes, I have a schedule, but lately I haven't been very good at keeping at it! :D). In the meantime, I hope you all like this! For those who were creeped out by the interrogation scene in the last section, this chapter is a bit more redeeming for Kan.**

**As usual, many thanks to all those who show their support for _Galactic War!_**

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Chapter 13

"_There is no emotion, there is peace. _

_There is no ignorance, there is knowledge._

_There is no passion, there is serenity. _

_There is no chaos, there is harmony. _

_There is no death, there is the Force." _

– The Jedi Code

✶ Kuat city Hotel, 0200, 406 days ABG ✶

"Okay, it's official now: the Pyronite is bonkers," Ammo said into his squad's private link.

"If leading us on a wild bantha chase through the city in the middle of the night indicates insanity," Cor answered.

"Remember your place, men!" Ember broke in. "He's not in charge of any contingent, but the Pyronite still outranks us all."

"All because of his genetics," Storm muttered sourly, referring to midichlorians, the microscopic lifeforms which lived in the cells of all living creatures, affecting their host with the ability to feel the Force.

"Hey, don't ever complain about genetics," Nano said. "Because our 'superior' genetics is the only reason we're all here."

"Don't remind me," Cor muttered.

"Weird how genetics determine a person's status in life," Onor commented.

"At least in these times," Lance pointed out.

"What are you guys talking about?" A girl's strident voice ––– Marya's ––– intruded upon the squad's private conversation. Hacking into a squad link was considered an indelicate breach of etiquette within the clone ranks, but none of the ELF Commandos expected Marya to know that.

"We're debating whether Pyronites can become lunatics or not," Ammo said lightly.

"Well, I think Heatrian is the answer incarnate," Marya replied. "We've been crawling through sewers and evading the cops for hours, and no one except Heatrian has seen any cultists."

"Maybe he's trying to delay us," Storm suggested. The clone had never had a very high opinion of Jedi. Adriaan and Kay were the only two he respected, because they showed a mutual deference to him.

"Why would he do that?" Marya asked. The idea was too shocking even for her warped, suspicious mind.

"Because Aedan's throwing a party and none of us are invited?" Ammo asked.

"Uh, _hell-oh? _How could I be GOODLY throwing a WICKED dance party in the hotel if I've been outside digging through WICKED dumpsters all night?" Aedan demanded, hacking into the link.

"Well, I don't know. You're WICKED, which means you're invincible, so I'm sure you'd be able to figure something out," Andre said loyally.

"Why do you think the cultists are hiding in dumpsters?" Ember asked suspiciously.

"Cultists? Man, you're so naïve," Aedan chortled. "Cultists in WICKED dumpsters…hah! Ehl-oh-ehl!"

"Ehl-oh-ehl?" Ember asked, confused.

"Again, another WICKED example of your naïveté," Nic commented.

"It's an acronym which stands for 'Laugh Out Loud'" Andre said with a supercilious air.

"Don't interrupt, Andre!" Aedan snapped. "Anyway, as any half-witted GOOD would know, the dumpster is the treasure-trove of all WICKEDS who have sophisticated palates."

"You mean you eat trash –––" Ammo began.

"Aedan, if you have any respect for the dignity of sane lifeforms, you'd do your poor Master a favor by listening to orders, for once," Ember said.

"Bah! What's the WICKED of living if you don't act like a lunatic every once and a while?"

"I agree; the problem with you, however, is that your fits of lunacy don't happen 'every once and a while'"

Ammo, Marya, and Andre had stopped in the middle of the alleyway several minutes back, and they had carried on this conversation as they waited for the culprit of their fruitless search to catch up with them. After Ember's remark, Heatrian oozed into view, bubbles of lava rising and popping out of his chest as he paused to regain his breath…if that was what it could be called. Ammo wasn't entirely sure that what the Pyronite had qualified as a respiratory system.

The lava-being halted, his yellow orbs widening and deliquescing into his cheeks as he scrutinized them. Ammo resisted the urge to throw up by looking away, his iron gut unable to withstand the sight of a melting face. To his chagrin, his Jedi companions seemed unaffected by the constantly changing features on the creature's "face"

"What the GOOD are you lard butts doing?" Heatrian demanded. Never mind that _he_ was the one slowing them up.

"Waiting for you, what do you think?" Andre snapped.

"Well, I'm here, so move it!"

"Why don't you lead us, since you're the only one who senses the people we are pursuing?" Marya remarked cattily.

"What, are you losing steam already?" he demanded. "And you GOOD organics are always crowing about how WICKEDLY tough you all are."

"There's a difference between a geriatric and a fool who follows an even bigger fool," the Zabrak hissed. Heatrian, who was actually quite intelligent ––– the one and true genius in the entire Wicked Club ––– caught the acerbity in her voice.

"It's not _my _fault you aren't powerful enough to sense anything."

"Now, in all my life, I have never had this exceptional of a snag sensing whether danger is close or not. So I find it more likely that there _isn't _any crisis here."

"Are you guys calling me a GOOD liar?" Heatrian demanded.

"Oh, no, not at all!" Andre hastened to defend. "We just think you're…UNWICKEDLY misinterpreting the Force signal."

The Pyronite's eyes suddenly solidified and popped back into his face as he stared at Andre incredulously. "But, following Marya's own GOOD logic, it's more likely that I'm _not _misinterpreting the signal because I have also never in my life GOODLY done so. What's your answer to _that_, O great philosophers?" He grinned when they all remained silent.

"Please, WICKED Heatrian, we're way overdue for the WICKED shift change," Nic pleaded over comlink.

The Pyronite suddenly reared his head, his nostrils flaring and spitting out black smoke. The clone and Padawans jumped back in alarm as he started forward, his eyes flaming. Ammo automatically loosened his machete from its sheath, recalling what his training commander had said about exotic species. _"Bear in mind that you are to treat them with the same degree of respect as any other lifeform, but remember that they may or may not react in the same way as humans do. All species are equal, yet unique; a Wookiee could take serious offense at things humans may consider to be compliments. Some aliens won't even show that they're indignant, so they may seemingly randomly try to rip your arms out of your sockets. Never rely on facial expressions to gauge the situation; too many people are too good at putting on an impenetrable sabacc face.__ Just watch out for those random attacks, and be prepared when they come." _Ammo looked at the metal weapon for a moment, wondering if it would have any effect on the lava being. Recalling that the nemesis of Pyronites was water, he let go of the machete hilt and reached for his water canteen instead.

"Uh, remember what Aedan WICKEDLY said about personal space…" Andre said, backing up slowly.

"Yep: there's no such GOOD thing," Aedan declared unhelpfully. Andre cursed and cut the king off the audio feed.

"Do you _mnaug _that?" The Pyronite whispered. Ammo watched Heatrian's body language closely; he couldn't pick up any vexation or outrage in the Pyronite's posture. Nevertheless, his hand remained on the water bottle cap.

"Excuse me?" Andre quavered.

"What is a _mnaug_?" Ammo asked, more curious than afraid now. He took his hand off his weapon, certain now that the Pyronite's sudden explosion into movement was because Heatrian had been alerted, not angered.

Heatrian shook his head, licking his "lips" with a long tendril of magma. "You humans have eyes and noses. Pyronites have different ways of perceiving the world. While you have senses of sight and smell, we have senses of _mnauging. _My _na _speaks to me of a great many roots…sorry, 'feet' is your word…leaving the WICKED ground and entering _Hzyla…_ 'sky' I think it is called. The cultists have become afraid and are fleeing to a different place."

Marya bent down to restrap her boots. "Then we must move with all haste and catch them before they are gone," she said briskly. Ammo looked at the Pyronite sharply ––– was that a relieved grin that lighted Heatrian's lava features? It was hard to tell; emotions were near impossible to guess in a face made entirely of fire.

"Do you know where they are going?" Ammo asked.

Heatrian suddenly stiffened, his skin pulsing to a bright cherry color. Then he collapsed into a pool in the alleyway, reshaping and forming into a gray pillar of rock. "No," he said, his voice sounding distant, preoccupied.

"What? How can you know they are going somewhere if you don't even know where they are going in the first place?" Marya demanded impatiently.

"It is too late; they have left," Heatrian said solemnly, almost as if he were rehearsing a part.

"But you just said –––"

"Forget what I said!" Heatrian snapped, all fire and verve now. "They are gone!" He paused, then continued in a much quieter tone. "It appears we have been led on a wild bantha chase."

"I _told _you!" Cor said to Ember over the private link.

"There's trouble back at the hotel. We need to report there immediately," Heatrian said, turning around and retracing his steps. Slightly put off by the alien's random flaring and cooling of temper, Ammo darted forward so that he was walking alongside the Pyronite.

"But how do you know this?" he asked. "Who contacted you? What's going on?"

"Klamin told me the cultists attempted to kidnap our ex-Padawan friend," Heatrian said grimly.

_ She ducked and swung out with her arm, aiming for his chest as his fist whistled over her head. His other arm came down to block hers, so she spun on her toes and brought her leg up in a spin hook to his head. _I've got him now! _She thought triumphantly. _

_ Whack!_

_ A foot came crashing into her face as her toes grazed the short stubble on his head. She yelped but did not fall ––– she had earned enough bruises to learn never to fall when fighting her Master ––– dropping into a crouch and rolling under his legs instead. She twisted in the second roll and leaped nimbly to her feet, sliding her right foot a shoulder width behind and a little to the right as she brought her fists up into a fighting stance, 'kiyahing__' spunkily despite the numb, burning feeling in her nose as fluid trickled out of her nostrils. _

_ "Keep your hands up!" Jacen hollered, grinning as he lunged forward and sent her prancing back a few meters. _

_ She glared at him ferociously, wanting to retort that it was his fault she had dropped into the habit of fighting with hands down. _He _fought with his arms jerking and swinging by his thighs as he bounced lightly on his toes, looking more like he was dancing to some catchy glimmik beat rather than fighting. He lunged forward again, and she brought her knee up in self-defense as she hopped back and slightly to the left. Her blood boiled as he smirked even wider. "See? You're getting tired," he crowed._

_ "Am not!" she retorted, popping a quick front leg axe kick to make the point. She felt a small amount of satisfaction as he retreated away from the punt. Both of them knew she was quite capable of kicking him in the head. _

_ She took advantage of his pseudo-retreat by using her forehand to wipe the sweat off her lips. Her hand came away pinkish-red, and she bared her teeth at him accusingly. "Thanks a lot; you broke my nose!"_

_ He stopped bouncing for a moment, his volatile gaze scrutinizing her face for a moment. He shrugged. "It doesn't look broken."_

_ "Okay, bloodied. Now I've got bloodstains all over my nice new tunic. Thanks a lot."_

_ "Welcome." He resumed gyrating and suddenly swung at her with a backfist. She parried and push-kicked him back, but he only grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her close, shoving his knee under her upraised leg so that she was left hopping on one foot and unable to kick. She glared and held still ––– glad for the strong muscles in her legs ––– and started to machine-gun kick to try to get her leg free. His other arm dropped to cover his chest guard, opening up his head for attack. She whooped as her left hand came up and scored him in the temple, but her victory was short-lived as he suddenly leaped in the air and hook-kicked her with his base foot, sending the two of them flying apart. She staggered a little but kept her fighting stance, shaking her head so that the blood droplets that had somehow gotten into her eyes went flying off her face and spattered all across the front of Jacen's clean white tunic. She wiped the heel of her hand across her nose and laughed at the angry expression that briefly darkened his sharp features, then gasped as he darted forward and shoved a nasty pop-up back kick straight in her gut… _

"MURDER!"

Suddenly a scream shattered the dreamworld, distorting Adriaan's contact with Kay Lee's consciousness as the rolling ocean became a great tsunami and threatened to crush her for life, maim her mind till it was as witless as a worm's, leaving her to claw at the dirt and…

She perceived herself as a stooped figure of an old woman who swiftly rose, casting aside her withered shroud and becoming a great shield maiden, a warrior with a beam of blue light extending from her right fist.

"Master, why have you abandoned us? We have been attacked!" Klamin shrieked.

_Attacked? Good Force, is there no sanctuary for us?" _Adriaan thought. "_Will I never be saved? Curse you, Haak! I wish I had ripped the heart of your very body the day I fought you! Was not the blood of Jacen enough to satisfy your craving? You got what you wanted! Now why don't you leave me alone?_

_ "Who is Jacen?" _Adriaan halted as she felt a flicker of Kay's thought briefly touch her own dark and shadowy ruminations. The Padawan was still unconscious, but her essence exuded a keen curiosity, eager to learn the nature of her Master's reflections. Not willing to share such precious and painful memories even with her best friend, Adriaan abruptly broke contact, rising from her place at the bedside and rushing into the next room, leaving Kay alone on the cold bunk, her chest heaving up and down like the waves of the sea.

She rushed into the room, staggered as an arm ––– Wolf's ––– held her back, shielding her eyes from the bright, bright blood on the carpet, the white sheets, the walls, the boys…

_My boys. My kids. My Padawans. No, this isn't right; it's me he wants, not them, not them…_

"Who dared to do this?" Adriaan yelled.

"Please, Master, don't go after them! Save us!" Klamin screamed through pink spittle.

She only saw the darkened socket of Darc's eye, hollow yet gazing emptily up at her accusatorially.

_"You never came…" _His voiceless, broken lips seemed to say. She heard the sharp voice of her Master screaming through her mind.

_"Keep your hands up!" His foot came crashing down on her head…_

She brought her hands up automatically, the adrenaline rushing through her system at the vivid memory. "I will avenge this!" she roared.

"But they have left without a trace!" Klamin argued, debating even while he was thrashing in torment, his face contorted and shapeshifting uncontrollably as he clutched the wound in his gut.

"I am the Darkhawk's fledgling! I am the hunter's child! There is no sanctuary for my enemies!" She thundered, and she thought it was her Master who spoke, her tone was laced with such power.

"There is no emotion, there is overconfidence…wait, no, it was 'There is no _reaction, _there is tranquility. There is no illiteracy, there is is no agony…but how can that be true? For there _is…_but never mind. There is no agony, there is quietus. There is no freedom, there is equality. There is no escape, there is coercion,'" the broken mouth burbled.

"Darc, can you hear me? What's happened?" Adriaan asked, her voice growing shrill.

"Nothing, my dear, just…I've just misplaced a few things, that's all. Can't find my big toes…or the Jedi Code." He seemed oddly at peace, not feeling any pain. She reached out to him in the Force, only to encounter an alien mind, frighteningly devoid of the confidence, the cocky self-assurance, the jolly disposition of her friend…

The Jedi Code was: _There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony. There is no death, there is the Force. _Darc's brain must have short-circuited, causing his memory to be distorted, exchanging similar words in place of the others. Thus his perception of the code became distorted.

_"I don't understand various aspects of our Order's code, Ree," Jacen began._

And then the truth of her Master's words were suddenly revealed to her as she looked down on the broken man who had once been her friend, who seemed at peace but was not, who simply appeared so because he felt no empathy, no emotion, no thought of anything, no love, no memory of his life…

_Fierfek, we can't gain peace through apathy. Some passions are vices, but not all of them. What about the passion for liberty, for justice, for peace? The greatest passion of all ––– Compassion ––– is an emotion as well. Why are we allowed to feel compassion and not any other response? If our Order allows us to feel compassion, why doesn't our code say, "There is no emotion except compassion" or something? And what about courage? That is an emotion, too. All the best Jedi are brave. We pride ourselves on being "free" from the bonds of sentiment; but without courage, compassion, and an ardor for peace and justice, can we truly call ourselves Jedi?_

The broken lips turned and spat out red bile, murmuring even through the retching. Alarmed, she took him by the hand. "Darc, what's wrong with you? Answer me!"

"I have answered, my dear," he coughed.

"Stop calling me that! Remember the deal we made? Do not torture me!"

"I would never do such a thing to you, though I myself have been put through agony because of you."

"I assure you, it was not in my least intention to make you suffer. I would rather die…"

"And I can find nothing better than dying for you, my dear, my precious, my _love."_

That stopped her dead in her tracks, voices and faces skittering across her mind like leaves blown in the wind. _"You are a Jedi, Adriaan," _She heard Darc say,_ "and to be a member of that Order is to be is part of the reason I chose to leave. I found that I had become too attached to certain Jedi in my life, and it was only fair that I separate myself from them, because even though I was not destined to lead a solitary life, those people were, and who was I to stand in their way?" _She watched Klamin's face crumpling, his gaze resentful as she lectured him on attachment. _"We're Jedi, and fighting a war; we don't have time for romantic intrigue. My students are all my children; I can't have favorites, and love some of them more than others. We can be friends, but nothing more." _And Wolf ––– poor Wolf, the young, dark face red with humiliation as Klamin taunted him…

"Good Force, he's mad," she shrieked. "They did something to his mind. Snap out of it, Darc! Awake! Arise!"

"It's too late; he is gone," Klamin blubbered. He looked comically like some clown who had a fit of stage fright and suddenly forgot most of his lines. "They stole up on us in our sleep and blinded us with glowlamps. We shouted for help, but no one came. They grabbed Darc and tried to make off with him, but we attacked. They stabbed us both and were about to kill us, but Darc…"

The Knight whirled as she heard a heavy tread right outside the door. "Kay!" Adriaan shouted, interrupting Klamin's hysterical explanation. The Padawan, gray-faced and haggard, fell through the door as she opened it and sprawled facedown on the carpet, moaning feebly. Adriaan, worried for Kay, reached her in half a step and knelt down, hauling her friend up. "What are you doing up?"

"You said to awaken, so I did," Kay mumbled. Adriaan came to a dead halt, looking at the Padawan strangely, wondering what the girl meant. _Who am I to compel the wounded to rise from their beds? _But Darc had not heeded her call, so she quickly dismissed the thought. She knew she was no miracle-worker, no Chosen One.

"I was speaking to Darc. Get back into bed!" She ordered finally, hauling Kay to her feet. The Padawan staggered, leaning against the wall. "Never mind, I'll carry you back. Wolf! My kit, please." Adriaan gripped Kay Lee under the armpits and half-dragged, half-carried her out of the room. Part of her was surprised at how quickly and effortlessly she moved the Padawan, despite the fact they were nearly the same size.

Adriaan lay her quickly and a little ungently back on her bunk. "Padawans, I'm going to need you to continue working on her while I'm gone," she rapped out. "Where's the other shifts? They were supposed to report back at…" She glanced at her chrono. "Holy fierfek, they were supposed to be back here hours ago!"

"It's all right, ma'am; they detected something in Elsil's hotel room and are conducting a citywide investigation," Wolf informed her.

"What did they find?"

"Elsil's dead body."

There was a brief hiatus. Then, "There will be blood payment tonight for this."

"Ma'am, I must request that you ease off the throttle and listen –––"

Her adrenaline spiked, raw power coursing through her so poignantly that she felt a sudden urge and conviction that she was quite capable of conquering the galaxy. She didn't want to waste such priceless energy. "There's no time for listening! Those guys have gone too far; they've hurt too many of my kids. It's time they got bitten."

"Ma'am, please, you're hysterical –––"

"Hysterical? Perhaps I am; who wouldn't be if they found one of their oldest friends maimed and vacuous after having been attacked in his own bedroom?"

"I understand your distress –––"

She laughed harshly. "No, Wolf, you do not. You cannot; you do not know what it is like to watch your children get hurt while you must continue on unmolested. Now, my kit, Wolf. Kan!" The Padawan snapped to attention, looking strangely guilty. "I want a minute ––– as in brief yet concise ––– description of the attackers. What did they look like and where did they go?"

Kan hesitated longer than he should have, his gaze darting suddenly towards the Shi'Odo. "I…I do not remember," he said, his voice distant.

"Why do you look so guilty? What's wrong with you?" Adriaan stepped toward her Padawan, who shrank back in alarm. "Kan?"

"Ma'am, really, he's hurt. He's not in any condition for an interrogation session," Vyto said, bravely stepping in between. Adriaan, in her adrenaline-fueled fury, almost struck the man down, but she restrained herself, nodding curtly and stepping back. She was determined to save all her ferocity to unleash on the enemy.

"Very well. I will have to do the best I can with what has been given to me," she said. She sat on the bunk and began strapping on her boots. "Wolf, where's my kit?"

"Ma'am, will you please consider –––"

She didn't hear the rest of his sentence; it was drowned out by the words he had said hours earlier. Was it really only hours ago? It seemed years.

_"Yes, sir, it was gross.I had to eat the soap, otherwise I would have thrown up."_

"I thank you for your opinion, but I did not ask for it. I find I do not much like your opinions anyway," she said dryly.

"Please do not turn deaf ears to my counsel just because I have dented your pride," Wolf pleaded. "Listen to me. What do you expect to gain by pursuing these attackers? Do you think that by tracking them down and slitting their throats in some dark alleyway you will somehow heal the wounds inflicted on your friends?"

"I vowed I would rather die than have them hurt because of me!"

"Come to your senses! Is this how a good officer would react?"

That stopped her in her tracks. She paused in the middle of lacing her boot, her mind suddenly blank and expressionless. Slowly, she lowered her foot and reached up to pass a hand over her eyes, and it seemed a cloud was brushed away from her vision, which she did not realize had been obscured before. "You're right, Wolf; I'm sorry," she said. "Put the wounded onto the bunks. My duty now is to…tend to them."

Wolf nodded, his facial muscles screwed up in an effort to remain calm. He reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. "You will have a chance to even out the score another time," he said quietly. "And I swear that when the time comes, I will be at your side."

She bobbed her head coldly and turned to the patients. She didn't need his reassurances. She knew such an opportunity for vengeance would come again, for the cultists were hunting her, were they not? And when that time came, she would prefer to face her foes alone. Adriaan in beast mode was a frightening sight even for her allies. "Alert me when the other teams come back," she murmured as she placed a hand over Darc's wounded face.

* * *

At about 0330 in the morning, Kan was pronounced fit by Andora Kenobi and Sai'wer, his healers._ Fit, perhaps, in body, _he thought humorlessly as he crouched over the refresher as his headache spiked and sent a fresh wave of nausea through his entire body, disrupting the delicate balance of his digestive system, _but that was only because the wounds were deliberate; luckily Klamin is precise enough with the lightsaber blade to be able to cut without harming any vital areas of the body. But one thing is for certain; Andora and Jahn Pal obviously did not examine my mental condition, otherwise I'd still be bedridden._

And they were too busy with the other wounded to even take notice of how he had immediately staggered into the refresher. They perhaps could not even hear the sound of bile being expelled from his body, though he was careful to keep the sound of his violent retching relatively subdued.

He threw up until there was nothing left, but still he kept up the regurgitating, miserably standing over the refresher as he waited for the agonizing dry heaves to subside. Adriaan had not been joking when she had said dry heaves hurt like _haran. _ But like all suffering, they did not last forever, and finally he was able to stand up straight without the pain in his head making him double over. He still had a headache, and now his throat was all swollen and raw from the dry retching, and when he coughed, he felt as though he was about to burst his esophagus. But other than that, he was ready for action.

He washed his hands carefully, rubbing his skin liberally with the strong-smelling soap which had been the cause of great embarrassment and discord several hours ago. His nose crinkled at the overbearing smell of star-mist blossoms, but he had to use it to disguise the pungent stench of bile. When he was finished, he stuck his head under the faucet and let the cool water wash over him. Then he ran his fingers through his short hair, making it stand up on end, and toweled it off. He gazed at his reflection dismally. No matter how hard he tried, he always looked as if he had just rolled out of bed. He had a naturally unkempt appearance, even though he maintained excellent hygiene. Of course, some things he just couldn't help: the dark circles under his eyes were attributed to many sleepless nights, his eyelids were puffed up and heavy because he was sick yet trying to stay on his feet for a few more hours, the shading on his upper lip ––– his crowning glory, for not many fourteen-year-olds were graced with facial hair, the epitome of ultimate masculinity ––– was handsome enough, but it was getting to be in dire need of a trim; and his hands were still bloody, covered with Darc's gore…

_But I just washed my hands, _he thought as he put his hands under the tap for the second time. He scrubbed his palms vigorously, trying to get the sticky sensation off his skin, but plain old water and stinky soap did little to wash the stain, but that was only because it wasn't really on his hands ––– his beautiful, golden-brown fingers, his clean nails –––– it was on his soul.

_But I didn't harm him, _he reasoned. The physical abuse had all been done by the Mirrorskin's hand. He had only stood by to make sure Klamin hadn't done any serious damage to the prisoner. Sure, he had forced himself into Darc's mind, but he had been gentle, and hadn't joined in the mental torture Klamin had taken such delight in…

"_It is not hate that is the opposite of love, but indifference," _Ruru had said. "_What you must fear most is not all-consuming hatred, but an all-consuming mentality devoid of any feeling. Hate is a love, in a sort of way, for when the object of your hatred is taken away by someone else, the passion in your life seems to recede as well, and you feel as though you are left with no purpose. We feel the same when we lose someone whom we love. But indifference is when you do not care whether the object of your indifference lives or dies, or is killed by a hand other than yours. In fact, when you are indifferent to someone, you feel it beneath you to harm the person, just as you would not condescend to help him. Love is tossing the stone over your shoulder; hate is savagely flinging the stone forward; but indifference is when you leave the rock sitting at your feet and allow others to pick it up to hurl at the condemned."_

In Ruru's words, Kan was just as guilty as Klamin. He had not harmed Darc, but neither had he helped him. He had not protested when Mirrorskin had cut the ex-Apprentice's toes off, he did not object when Klamin had mutilated an innocent man's face, and he had not stopped the Shi'Odo when he had tortured Darc without any reason other than to humiliate him. In a way, he was even more to blame than Klamin was, for Klamin had been driven by a bloodlust and passion, and such feelings desensitized and blinded a person. Klamin probably did not even realize how horrible he had been. But Kan…Kan had not been so blinded. He had seen the evil in what they had been doing, but he had not stopped it. He had encouraged it.

A sudden shock sparked through his index finger and went tingling up his arm, jerking the muscles back with a start. He twitched, puzzled, and looked down to see what had caused the shock. Oh. His finger had grazed the metal hilt of his lightsaber, and he had gotten jolted. He hadn't realized he had been fingering it. Vaguely Kan wondered what his subconscious self had been attempting, but quickly dismissed the incident from his mind as coincidental when his brain started to get macabre ideas about his subliminal motives, and decided it would be best that he remove the weapon from his person until he had gotten out of such a depressing state of mind.

So with swollen, numb fingers, he unclipped his lightsaber hilt ––– his life, his most prized possession, the one thing he had fashioned all by himself ––– and tried without success to walk out of the refresher without tripping over his own feet. He somehow made it to his bunk, and he promptly lifted the mattress up and stuffed the lightsaber underneath. Letting the mattress fall back into place, he sat dismally on top of it all and contented himself with staring vacuously into space. He tried to keep his mind clear, but he couldn't stop berating himself, so although on the outside his face was as blank as a new sheet of flimsy, inside he was going through an even greater mental turmoil than he had allowed Klamin to torture Darc with.

_It was all my fault. Fierfek, I want to lay down and go to sleep, but these sheets are all dirty. They're soaked with his blood…_

His eyes waved the sharp evidence of pristine white sheets before his mind, but he was not appeased. He was convinced that he was sitting in a pool of blood; he could feel it seeping into the seat of his pants, his hands were all damp…

_Water. I need water. I need to wash my hands._

His headache spiked, sending his head snapping back against the joint. But he didn't flop onto his back; he remained upright, trying to keep his empty stomach from twisting. He had nothing else to puke out. He was positive that any more retching would rupture his esophagus.

_They were made for each other. No Master and Padawan team could have been more compatible. It was a miracle of sorts that they had gotten together. _Through Darc's eyes, through the ex-Padawan's memories, he watched as a lean, well-built woman with long blond hair pulled up into a high, flirty ponytail imitated the long, purposeful stride of a dark man in dark robes stalking a few paces in front of her.

_Jacen, at twenty-three, had a lean, streamlined runner's body. He wasn't particularly short, but was on the threshold of being described as so. His dark hair was shaved close to his head, though he allowed some masculine stubble to thrive above his mouth and on his chin. His face was clean-cut, his features sharp, crisp, and noble; his nose was perfection, neither drooping like a hawk's nor turning up saucily; his firm mouth had a tendency to turn up at the corners in a mocking, sardonic grin. His eyes were perhaps his most distinguishing quality; they were frankly mesmerizing, the irises being a deep chocolate amber color, constantly aflame with a passion that showed even in his step. His eyelashes were perhaps his only attribute that could be ridiculed; Ree liked to tease him about his "Long, curly lashes which any girl would kill for."_

_ His Apprentice, eight years his junior, was a blossom beginning to unfurl at the peak of her beauty. She had been rather slow to leave adolescence, but after going into puberty well into her fourteenth year, it did not take her body long to finish its evolution from girl to woman. She would always appear pale, and the babyish, light brown freckles speckling her nose were hers forever. If she maintained her athletic lifestyle, her broad shoulders and toned body would also remain. But what had once been skinny was now filled out, and she now walked with a slight swaying of the hips. Whether she was just in the mood to be sultry, or she was doing it subconsciously, was another matter. Whatever the reason, she definitely had the appearance of a woman now. She was lean like her Master, and for a woman, of medium height. She was just an inch or two shorter than Jacen, and very likely nearly or even equal his match in strength. He had trained her too well for her to be any weaker._

_ She wore dark robes just like her mentor, but unlike his baggy tunic and pants, she had hers cut so that it fit snugly against her body. Her yellow-blue eyes held the same expression as her Master's, and indeed, if they had been dark brown they would have looked exactly like Jacen's. The only thing about her that pronounced frailty of any sort was the Padawan braid enmeshed within her bouncy ponytail, but she had neutralized any weakness it might have presented by weaving durasteel beads armed with barbed hooks into the braid. Darc had seen her many a time ruin her opponent's good looks with a simple flick of her hair. _

_Adriaan, why did you lie to me about your Master? Why haven't you told us about Jacen? _Kan thought, brushing the stolen memory away as if it were no more than a gray leaf in the wind.

His eyelids drooped, and he felt himself slipping; the ground was rising up swiftly towards his eyes, the hard floor was eager to smash his face in…

A hand clapped on his back, and Kan started upright, his eyes snapping open and his nerves sending sharp pulses through his system. But he hadn't fallen; he sat as stiffly as before, his feet planted firmly on the ground. He must have dozed off where he had been sitting.

"You're okay," Klamin said firmly, the hand on Kan's shoulder turning into iron-hard talons.

"But she's not," Kan murmured. "I wonder how he died…"

The Shi'Odo yawned, morphing into a feline and stretching his spine luxuriously. The former Padawan of Ruru felt the dry heaves coming on as he gazed at the shapeshifter, who, after several hours of relentlessly torturing an innocent citizen, looked as innocuous and as content as if he had just woken up after ten solid hours of elysium-filled sleep. Klamin's apparent nonchalance to Darc's fate was so repulsive to Kan that if he had had his lightsaber still clipped to his belt, he would not have hesitated to gouge the Shi'Odo's eyes out then and there.

"How who died?" Klamin yawned, rolling his head from side to side, making the tendons in his neck crack.

"Jacen. They seemed to be such good friends, but Adriaan hasn't breathed a word to us about him. She even lied to us about her Master being Netari Ptosoy or something like that. Remember?"

"Like yesterday." The changeling proceeded to crack his knuckles. "Well, since he's dead or killed or whatever, I think she just finds it really hard to talk about. Independent people like her are often withdrawn, I've observed. They feel it a sort of weakness to need to ask someone for help. They'd much rather suffer silently and alone."

"But it was uncalled for her to downright deny who her Master was. It's almost…I don't know, faithless to her mentor's memory. I don't understand why she would go to such lengths to hide his identity from us."

Klamin flexed his fingers, growing and unsheathing claws as he did so. "We're men, Kan; we aren't expected to understand women, especially a female like Adriaan." He paused and bent to examine one of his claws. He muttered something unintelligible under his breath.

"What?"

"Hands are dirty," Klamin mumbled. "Need to wash them again." He suddenly seemed to recollect himself. "Wolf gave me some painkillers because he noticed you weren't quite able to walk your injury off. You need to get your act together, or they're going to get suspicious."

"I'm just tired, that's all," Kan lied.

"Well, the painkiller should knock you out pretty quick." He tossed Kan a syringe filled with bluish fluid and took out another for himself as well. After injecting the substance into the vein, his tense features melted into the mellow, furred face of a Lurmen. "I'm going to take a shower," he said indistinctly, his voice a little slurred. His eyelids drooped heavily, concealing his pupils, which had quickly contracted into mere slits. The sedative must have had an immediate effect.

"You just took some painkiller," Kan reminded the Shi'Odo. "I think you should wait for it to wear off before you take a shower. You look a little drowsy."

"I feel fine," Klamin snapped, suddenly getting angry. "I don't need you to babysit me, so why don't you mind your own business?"

Kan blinked. "Well, sorry, I was just trying to look out for the guy watching my six, you know. Isn't that what friends are for?"

"Oh, right," Klamin agreed drowsily. "Friends help each other. You're a good kid, Kan." He patted Kan clumsily on the head. "Now do yourself a favor and take that painkiller so you can sleep this all off. You'll feel better in the morning."

Kan wanted to argue that it _was _morning already, and that Klamin really shouldn't take a shower while on sedatives, but he was so tired he just gave up. "That's a good idea," he said weakly, clumsily probing for the brachial artery and stabbing the needle into his flesh. He yelped as a sharp burn tore through his lungs, then inhaled with relief as a cool sensation pulled through his veins, leaving him with a feeling of fleeting bliss. _I really should lay down and get some sleep. There's no reason for me to be sitting up like some paranoid freak…what am I afraid of, anyway?_

_ "I will kill whoever did this!"_

Kan sat bolt upright, his muscles cold and quivering.

"What?" Klamin mumbled, leaning on the bed for support.

"Why aren't we scared?" Kan asked. "She threatened to kill us, and you'll know she's going to do it, no matter who the killers turn out to be."

"She won't," Klamin said. "Find out, I mean."

"But she's the hunter's child," Kan protested. "Jacen's student. You've seen her in action; you know that once she puts her mind to it, not even a duracrete wall will present a problem to her. She's unstoppable. And don't forget she can practically read everyone's mind."

"Well, as long as I don't _think _about this ––– as long as I refuse to feel fear ––– she will have no reason to suspect. And therefore, since she won't find out if I am not scared, there is no reason for me to feel afraid in the first place." Klamin sidled off towards the refresher. "I think you should follow my example."

"Yes," Kan said, falling back the same instant and feeling his head hit the soft yield of the bunk. Within two seconds, he was asleep.

He was roughly shaken awake from a dreamless sleep at 0500 by Marya, who put a finger to her lips and jerked her chin towards the "medical center" Kan, a twisted knot forming in his stomach, slid out of bed and followed the Zabrak into the room, which was oddly void of clones and Padawans. Kan looked around for the Shi'Odo uneasily, and found the changeling standing near a bed. He exhaled with relief. He had feared that Klamin had drowned in the shower.

Klamin was talking quietly to the person lying on the bunk. His eyes darted up when Kan entered the room, his gaze meeting his companion's briefly before returning to the subject which held his interest.

Kay was sitting up in bed, her hand on her chest as she inhaled and exhaled slowly, as if she couldn't believe she could breathe. Faithful Andora crouched at the bedside, clutching a bowl of what looked like noodle soup and feeding the patient carefully with a small metal spoon. She looked up when Marya and Kan approached, and quietly rose to her feet, swaying a little in enervation.

"You're on sleep shift now, Andora. Kan and I will take over from here," Marya said, prying the girl's thin hands from the bowl with uncharacteristic gentleness. Andora nodded mutely, for once not coming back with a preachy quip. Kan could see why; she was dead-tired. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her skin was ashy white. He wondered how long she had been kneeling by Kay, and began to feel selfish. While poor Andora had been spending hours healing a wounded Jedi, Kan had been ruthlessly interrogating an innocent citizen, cutting into everyone else's sleeping time because the debriefing had ended up taking longer than expected.

"I hope that idiot Pyronite sees what he's done to her," Marya muttered. "The poor kid looks like most of the life was sucked out of her. She was on the healing shift for way too long, and it's all Heatrian's fault for leading us on that wild bantha chase."

Kan felt Klamin's gaze bore into him, but he didn't dare return the look. He was sure his face was bright red with shame, for it had been his fault that Andora had gotten an unfair shift, and Marya was blaming it all on Heatrian because she didn't know better.

"Sounds like you guys have been having one heck of a time while I've been out," Kay croaked as Marya scooped the spoon into the bowl.

"Don't even talk about it," the Zabrak muttered, jamming the spoon into the woman's mouth. "Believe it or not, you're actually in better shape than Adriaan is right now."

"Why? What happened?" Kay asked.

Klamin cleared his throat awkwardly. The two girls turned to stare venomously at him. "Pardon me, but what are our orders?" he asked in a clipped tone.

"I'm glad you asked." Kay kicked the white sheets off of her and raised a bare foot up into the Shi'Odo's face. "Massage my feet!" She commanded.

The Shi'Odo flushed, morphed into a bright-red Twi'lek, and angrily swatted her foot away. "They smell like the backend of a bantha carcass," he snarled impolitely.

"Well, of course they would, because my feet are on the dirty dang ground all day. What do you expect?" Kay asked with equal fieriness. "Anyway, I was joking; did you flush your sense of humor down the refresher this morning or something?"

Marya snickered appreciatively. Witty, acerbic comebacks were like food and drink to her.

"I'm still recovering from my injuries," Klamin protested. "I'm walking wounded; give me a break."

Kay looked at him through narrowed eyes. Being bedridden certainly hadn't improved her volatile temper. "You don't look it," she said.

"Insanity can be hard to detect," the Zabrak remarked drily. "But even if you're not fully recovered, changeling, you can at least sit here and feed Kay the rest of this broth so that I can do your dirty work."

Neither Kay nor Klamin looked pleased at this arrangement, but unfortunately this wasn't the time to be picky. Sure, Klamin spoon-feeding Kay was awkward, but they didn't have time to be harboring any weird qualms about cooties. Only a spoiled baby would make such a fuss.

The Shi'Odo reached out for the bowl, and almost fell right on top of Kay in the process. Fortunately, Marya snatched away the soup before he spilled it. He mumbled an apology as she gave him a glaring scrutiny as she passed back the broth. "Are you high? Your eyes are out of focus," she said, pointing to her eyes to demonstrate her point.

"I'm on stims," Klamin mumbled. "Trying to counteract the sleeping pill I took a couple of hours ago."

"How many fingers am I holding up?" Kay asked, shoving three digits in front of his face.

The Shi'Odo blinked, trying to focus. "Um, six?" he asked.

Marya and Kay exchanged a meaningful look. Then the Zabrak straightened abruptly and said in an unnaturally casual voice, "Well, it's not like feeding someone is the same as driving a speeder, is it?"

Kay was mortified. "I'm sorry, but I don't think I want to be put in the care of an inebriated kid, thank you."

"Oh, shut up; this is no time to be picky," Marya said briskly. "Look, all he has to do is dip the spoon in the bowl, and make sure the liquid stays on the spoon as he shoves it into your mouth. What could he possibly do wrong?"

"Well, he could miscalculate the angle of the spoon's trajectory and shove it up my nose instead…"

"I'm sure you'll be able to handle it," the Zabrak said unsympathetically. Then, before Kay could protest further, she rose and strode away, beckoning for Kan to follow. She led him to a relatively secluded area of the room and stopped a few meters short of a bunk upon which the victim of Klamin's and Kan's malice lay. Adriaan knelt at the bedside, bending over the patient with her back to the Padawans, her dark-clothed, lean form so motionless she seemed to blend into the somber aura of the room.

Marya cleared her throat, calling his attention away from Adriaan by pulling on his sleeve with a firm yet gentle tug. The situation was serious indeed if the Zabrak had shed her idiosyncratic catty temper.

"She's been like this for hours, and though she's healed a great extent of the damage, there's still a lot more which needs to be done," Marya said in a low voice. "I'm not worried that Darc won't recover ––– it's _her _I'm concerned about. She's been running on stims all night, but I don't know how much longer they're going to keep her on her feet."

"If her legs give out, she'll just kneel," Kan pointed out. "I've seen her do it before. She'll keep working even if her legs won't hold her up." And it was true; he well remembered the defense of Hai last year, when the Seppies had overrun the GAR's fortifications and stormed the walls of the city. Adriaan had leapt out and held the enemy at the bridge for six straight hours while the soldiers hastened to bolster their defenses. And when shrapnel from an exploding larty had broken one of her legs, she had just gotten down on one knee and leaned against the wall to keep herself supported while she held back the tide of battle droids. Kan remembered that one of the clones ––– Rez or Ammo, no doubt ––– had jokingly given her the amputated leg of a battle droid to use as a crutch after the battle.

"She's due for a shift switch," Marya muttered. "One would think that with thirty some people on the team that there'd be more hands on deck…"

"Can I get a briefing on the situation?" Kan asked, trying to look eager to help, and not dealing with severe mental trauma.

"No problem." Marya ran her fingers through her ragged hair. "We found Elsil's corpse in her apartment last night, and then Heatrian apparently sensed that her murderers were still around, and so he led us on this completely pointless chase through the city. Then around 0200 the Pyronite suddenly stopped looking and informed us that there was trouble at the hotel, so we came back here to find you guys like this. Adriaan sent a group of clones out about an hour ago to conduct an autopsy on Elsil, to determine the cause of her death. The others are positioned in different areas of the street and inside the building itself, just in case the cultists return to attack again."

Kan felt another surge of guilt. _They don't know it was just Klamin and I; now, because of our lie, they're tightening up security and working overtime while I've been snoozing like a fibbing, corpulent Hutt. Marya hasn't gotten any rest at all; that surly Zabrak has been working her butt off all night healing wounds that Klamin and I inflicted on ourselves to sell the whole kriffing deception. That cantankerous brat is a better person than I am._

"My batteries are fully charged; what can I do to help?" He asked, trying to make light of a serious situation.

She glanced over at Adriaan. "On a scale from one to ten, how would you grade your Force-healing abilities?"

Kan scratched his head, trying to get the mechanisms in his brain to work. The question was harder than he expected. He had healed before, of course ––– injuries were inevitable in war ––– but he had never been entrusted with anything more serious than first-degree burns, and even those left his mind muscles feeling a little sore. He wasn't quite sure if he was a healing proficient.

"I've never healed serious injuries before, but I do have experience in the art, so I'll grade it a four or a five," he answered.

Marya's tired face brightened with relief. "Mediocre is better than nothing," she said. "We could definitely use your help in that area. Come with me." She strode bravely over to Darc's bed and tapped her Master on the shoulder. Adriaan's head jerked up immediately, her yellow-blue eyes darting towards Marya apoplectically.

"Sitrep!" she barked, so forcibly that Kan took a cautious step back. But the Zabrak remained unruffled, gazing fearlessly back into Adriaan's eyes, which were narrowed into dark slits. The purple shadows under her eyelids lent an extra element of ferocity to her expression, and the smoldering carnelian ochre that burned in her normally blue irises gave her an altogether desperate and terrifying appearance. Kan found he couldn't look at her face for more than a few seconds, her expression was so tense.

"Kan's awake, so he's available to take over your shift," the Zabrak informed her.

Adriaan stared at her for a moment in stony silence, her lips pressed together in a thin line. Abruptly, she turned back to the bed, the stiffness in her shoulders communicating her dismissal. "I can handle this for a few more hours. Have him take over your duties instead. You look tired."

Marya bristled. Accusing her of physical exhaustion was tantamount to calling her Gardulla the Hutt. "I'm _not _tired," she said indignantly. "I'm just trying to look after you, you know; can't have you dying on us…"

Adriaan looked up briefly and shot Marya a strange smile. "You know, for a moment there you sounded just like me when I was your age." She turned back to the patient. "Take it as a compliment or an insult ––– whichever you prefer."

"I'll take it as an insult, thank you!" Marya snapped.

"Sorry to have offended you." Adriaan closed her eyes and placed her hand palm side down over Darc's empty eye socket. Without opening her eyes, she asked, "Any word from the pathologist group?"

Marya was about to open her mouth to answer when Adriaan's comlink chirped. She tapped the bead link, turning on the live audio feed. "Sitrep," she asked calmly, much more politely than she had inquired of Marya a few moments before.

"Analysis finished. Packing up and moving back to HQ," a clone's voice answered.

"Cause of death?"

"A smoking hole in her chest, ma'am. Looked like a pusillanimous pansy ninja's handy-work to me, if I might venture an opinion."

This time, the clone's lingo was incomprehensible even to Adriaan. "'Pusillanimous pansy ninja'?" she inquired.

_"_Sith-wanna-be spook," Another clone translated for her.

"Interesting term of endearment," Adriaan commented, but there was no mirth in her tone. "So there was an UCT ––– a Universal Cutting Tool ––– involved?"

"Jedi glowstick? Yeah. Not your handiwork, I'm assuming."

"I wouldn't take credit for it, no," she replied lightly.

"But maybe that's what the GOOD murderers were aiming for," Aedan said, tearing into the room just then.

His Master turned to him half-curiously, a nearly invisible blond eyebrow raised in inquiry. "A theory, Padawan?"

"No. A proof." He tapped into his bead comlink so that his line was connected to the other end. "Hey, UNWICKED clone, do you know if there are any WICKED security cameras set up in this building?"

"There's one set up right outside the door of her room, sir," the clone answered after the briefest of pauses.

"Do you know where the WICKED cam transmits the monitor holos to?"

There was another interlude as the clone calculated. "I would guess they would be saved in the hotel computer mainframe," he answered.

"Mind elaborating?" Marya and Adriaan said at the same time. The Zabrak's purple facial markings flushed bright fuchsia. "I do _not _talk like you…" She muttered as she caught the Jedi Knight's sly smirk.

"Well, I was thinking that it was a GOOD choice for the murderers to kill Elsil with such a distinguishing weapon ––– although a lightsaber does have the characteristic quality of disposing of people quietly and with minimum WICKED goriness ––– because leaving that sort of WICKED evidence narrows down the list of suspects considerably. And then I thought, 'If I was a GOOD cultist and needed to dispose of a loudmouth compatriot, the WICKEDEST way to do it would be to make the death look like it was caused by a lightsaber user.' Because most beings in the galaxy are only aware of one sect of beings ––– WICKED Jedi ––– who use such weapons, the natural conclusion would be that a Jedi killed the girl. Why have the cultists been using lightsabers to damage ships and murder people? At first I thought it was a ruse to strike WICKED terror into the hearts of these GOOD, cowardly people, and make them think the Jedi had turned against them or something. But then I WICKEDLY thought, 'What if the real point is to pin the blame on the _Jedi?'"_

Adriaan frowned in concentration, her attention caught. Kan personally didn't see what was so interesting; even though Aedan had refrained from adding the usual "wickeds" and "goods" to every sentence, he still talked too fast for Kan's brain to process."So to put it all in brief, you think there was a dual purpose in the murder of Elsil by a lightsaber, as well as the vandalism of the prototypes at KDY."

Aedan nodded in affirmation. "WICKED."

"But why kill a member of their own party?" Marya asked. "Wouldn't an innocent hotel guest have suited better as a victim?"

Adriaan opened her mouth to answer, but Aedan cut her off. "Are you stupid?" he demanded. "If so, that would make two of the female sex who have demonstrated their idiocy within the past forty-eight hours or so. Who was the moron who tipped GOOD old Adriaan off about some sort of planned cultist meeting? Did it ever occur to you that maybe her WICKED _male _––– I say _male _because they obviously don't act like clueless, GOOD old women ––– associates discovered that she spilled the WICKED beans?"

Marya roared with indignation at having her gender thus disparaged, but Adriaan held up a hand to silence the offended Zabrak before she went full throttle into a lecture filled with colorful language. "What did you mean by asking if there were any security cameras on the floor?"

"Well, GOOD, perhaps the camera captured a video of the murderers entering and leaving the room."

"These people aren't entirely stupid; they would have found a way to erase the evidence from the tape," Marya objected. "Or, even better, they probably entered through an angle the hallway camera doesn't cover, such as the bedroom window. They did it last night, remember?"

"As I was saying before I was so GOODLY interrupted," Aedan interrupted with a dirty glance at the Zabrak. "Perhaps the cultists didn't feel like they had to erase the datatape; after all, they didn't bother to erase the one holo of the GOOD guy walking in and stealing the schematics to the WICKED _Firespray_ prototype."

"You've got something there," Kan said, trying to look like he was engaging in the conversation.

Aedan glared at Kan for the interruption, though in truth it was only to hide the pleased grin that rose to his lips at the compliment paid to him. "AS I WAS SAYING," he repeated, "even if the GOODS _did _bother to erase the data, there's incriminating evidence that suggests certain guests at this hotel committed the murder. Unless one of the people downstairs bothered to jam the security camera, the hotel computer mainframe has a holo of you GOOD idiots entering the hotel room. Those holos would be easy enough for the cultists to export from the mainframe. My guess is they're planning to leak the holos out and so warrant a police investigation of our apartment. And if an investigation takes place, the GOOD Kuati are going to figure out pretty quick that a detachment of GAR officers are here. The cultists _want _our identities to be revealed so that the morale of the citizens will plummet, thus increasing the terrorists' chances for taking over the planet from the inside."

They were all speechless. Even Adriaan's normally passive face registered astonishment as she gaped at Aedan, whom she had long ago labeled as an illogical kid with "special needs"

"Marya, I think I'll take you up on your offer for a chance to get some sleep," Adriaan said finally, "because I think I'm hallucinating."

Aedan was offended. "I don't see what's so amazing about what I just said," he said stiffly. "And I can prove to you that you're not hallucinating, you GOOD. Can you smell things that only exist in your dreams?"

"I suppose not."

Aedan suddenly emitted a loud, ripping sound of air escaping from his behind, effectively silencing everyone as they stared at him in horror at his inelegance. The ill-mannered Padawan grinned as a foul odor pervaded the room, making them all double over and gag. "For a dream fart, it seems to have a pretty strong smell," he commented, ambling off into the sleeping quarters.

When everyone had sufficiently recovered, Adriaan gasped out, "Ember, take Nano and couple other of your guys to go hack into the computer mainframe and wipe the holos from the security cam."

"Right away, ma'am. What do you want us to do with the luggage our 'pansy ninja' friends left down here?"

She was quiet for a moment, examining her fingertips as she splayed her hand across the bedsheet. "Do any of you know how to doctor the scene to make it look convincingly like she…you know, took her life?"

"Lightsaber wounds can be hard to disguise, ma'am."

"Then vape the body."

There was a pregnant interlude on the other end. "Ma'am, the proprietor may be slow, but I'm sure he'll notice if one of his customers disappeared without paying her bills."

"Then one of you go down to the front desk and check out of her room for her," she said. "Pay in dataries, because I don't want to leave a bank account number that someone can trace back to us."

"Got it."

The link switched off, leaving Kan and Marya with their Master and the unconscious ex-Padawan. Adriaan didn't speak to them for some time, still concentrating on her fingers spread across the white sheet. Abruptly, she seemed to recollect herself, and as she looked around and noticed the two of them still standing there, she gave a short bark of a laugh, running her hands nervously through her hair. "Sorry, I'm still sort of in shock by what Aedan did," she said, her voice shaky. "Not his uh, uncultivated way of proving that we weren't dreaming, but his genius reasoning concerning Elsil's murder. I should be used to his eccentricities by now, but he always manages to surprise me."

"I think that's just part of who he is," Marya said.

Adriaan shook her head and giggled humorlessly. "I swear, the kid thinks like a criminal!" she chortled. "Who would have ever guessed that the cultists _wanted _me to send a team down into the hotel room? It's almost as if they know me so well they can predict my every move." Suddenly her mood darkened. "Well, of _course _that's why they've managed to stay one step ahead of me every time…"

"Master, would you like to get some rest?" Marya asked quietly.

Adriaan shook her head stubbornly. "No. No, I don't, and I can't. It's sweet of you to be concerned, Padawan, but I honestly wouldn't be capable of sleeping if I left Darc half-healed. This job must be finished before I can find any rest." She turned back to the patient.

"Then at least allow Kan to help you," the Zabrak suggested gently. "It'll make the job go by much faster if there's two working on him at once."

The Knight looked up, her yellowish gaze boring holes into Marya's golden-and-violet-toned face. "You're right," she said slowly. "I'll take your advice. Now go get some sleep. Kan and I will take over from here. Klamin will wake you up if we require your assistance."

This time, the bleary-eyed girl went without protest, leaving Kan alone with Adriaan. He stood by her awkwardly, the moment he had always wished for suddenly not so desirable, not with the stain of the horrible sin on his soul. He felt so guilty, he was sure he must transmit his shame as clearly as a beacon. But he needn't have worried; Adriaan was too tired, too preoccupied with Darc, too busy flagellating herself for not having been the great warrior to the rescue, that she was not aware of the surge of emotions that overcame Kan.

She knelt and placed her hand over Darc's damaged eye, and Kan went around to the other side of the bed and crouched likewise, observing what injuries she had already healed. The toe wounds had closed up, leaving ugly, gnarled knobs on Darc's feet. Kan grimaced as his gaze traveled up Darc's body. The gashes on his head had been stitched up, but his lips were still a bloody mess, as was his eye. Adriaan was tending to the eye, so Kan moved up and touched Darc's mouth, calling on the Force to aid in the healing process. _How odd that he should be healed by the one who inflicted these disfiguring wounds, _he thought as he watched the skin knit under his fingers and become whole, flawless lips again. _But I didn't do it to be malicious, to disfigure him for life; I only wanted that information, and that was the quickest way to force it out of him. I'm sorry, Darc, but I'll do the best I can to make sure you will not be permanently damaged from this experience. As Adriaan's friend and our ally, you deserve that much._

After about half an hour, Kan crouched back on his heels and let the Force drain away from his exhausted body as he looked with satisfaction at his handiwork. There. At least he had corrected some of the wrongs he had done by healing what he had hurt ––– or what Klamin hurt, but Kan personally thought there was no difference between someone actually committing the deed and the person who stood by in approval.

"_Love is tossing the stone over your shoulder; hate is savagely flinging the stone forward; but indifference is when you leave the rock sitting at your feet and allow others to pick it up to hurl at the condemned." _How right his Master had been.

A quiet sob suddenly punctured the thick blanket of silence, and Kan's eyes darted toward the noise anxiously, fearing it was Darc or Kay or Klamin. Instead, he was shocked and grieved to find that the person crying was his own Master. She wept silently, the tears streaming down her cheeks and dripping onto Darc's pallid face. Her eyes were squeezed shut, and her lips colorless as they voicelessly mouthed the word "please" She knelt rigid, every muscle in her body flexed, the ropes in her neck standing out as she strained and heaved, pushing against an invisible force which would not yield. Just when Kan began to think he should intervene, she flung her hand back with a sharp Mando'a retort, breathing hard as she sat back on her heels, slouching in defeat. Enraged, she cried out again and began to let out a stream of imprecations in various languages. When her list of profanities began to grow thin, she switched to Basic and spoke out to no one in particular, "Master Yoda was right when he said, 'Wars not make one great' for all my fighting experience and training amounts to nothing, can do nothing to save even a single eye! Has my Master thus wasted my life, training me in the skill of destruction? There is no honor in killing, no art in war, no cause for admiration in a warrior; but a healer is held in high esteem indeed, for it is a gift to be able to save the ones you love. I may be the greatest warrior breathing, but I am only the best of the least, and less worthy than the worst of peacekeepers. And because of my weakness, Darc will spend the rest of his life disfigured, and his ugliness will damage his ego, and ruin his self-confidence."

Tears flooded Kan's eyes, and he wanted to rush over and sling his arm over her shoulder and mingle his tears with hers, and tell her that it was okay, that such a burden was not hers to bear, that someone else was guilty of the things she blamed herself for. But he had sworn to never reveal the truth of the incident to anyone, and his word bound him, and prevented any expressions of comfort to inspire his lips. So he went mutely to her and pushed her aside, placing his hand over the ex-Padawan's eyesocket. To his surprise, Adriaan yielded to him and stepped away, out of his line of sight.

He took a deep breath, trying to find his center. He wasn't going to attempt what his Master had failed to do by regenerating an entire eye, but he would at least speed up the healing process, and provide what comfort to his victim that he could. As he began the healing session, reflecting on the poetic justice of the transgressor binding wounds his own hands had inflicted, Wolf entered the room silently and saluted, patiently awaiting permission to continue with the report. When no request for the review came, Kan jerked a thumb backwards, indicating to Wolf that Adriaan was behind him. The Captain looked in the direction the Padawan pointed to, and the hard contours of Ruru's murderer's face suddenly softened into a look Kan couldn't fathom. It was the gaze of longing for something ––– _someone –––_ as unattainable as the stars, well knowing that what he most desired he could never possess, but loving and fostering a fool's hope for it nonetheless.

_He may as well fall in love with the Queen of the Hapes Cluster,_Kan thought, _Adriaan's just too distant, too focused on being a good officer, too utterly fallen for a man who is dead. _He felt no misgivings that Wolf was sweet on his Master, for any chance of a romantic relationship between the two was one in a trillion. Adriaan had already given her heart to another, and Kan knew well just how stubbornly she could stick to her decisions ––– even the bad ones ––– once she had made them.

Wolf stepped forward, and Kan raised an eyebrow in silent inquiry. The clone touched a finger to his lips and half-strode, half-tiptoed past Kan, who turned to watch the soldier's progress.

Adriaan, eyes closed, was on her knees, her forehead resting against a bedpost, her arms clasped around it. She looked strangely peaceful in such an uncomfortable position, her hands folded as if in prayer. Wolf genuflected beside her and tenderly scooped her into his arms, rising swiftly and stepping toward the door easily, as if she weighed no more than a feather. The Jedi Knight inhaled softly and suddenly wrapped her arms around the clone's neck, pressing her face contentedly against his shoulder. Wolf paused, stunned at the gesture made in subconsciousness, and a tiny, sad smile briefly touched his firmly set mouth. Adriaan murmured something incomprehensible, her lips muffled by the coarse fabric of Wolf's tunic.

Kan smiled despite his grief. Adriaan had finally fallen asleep.


	15. Chapter 14: Change of Tactics

**Yo readers! Well, it took awhile, but I finally got this very long chapter (It's about 30 pages in 12 font size) typed up. Sorry to have kept you all waiting for so long; I had finals, tennis started, we've had house guests for the past two weeks, last weekend I spent at a university with all my friends – yes, it is time for me to start looking at colleges, so I may not be writing as frequently :(– and I'm leaving monday to go kick some butt (hopefully!) at a weeklong, national taekwondo tournament. Oh yes, and after that I'm going to get a summer job because I couldn't apply earlier because I've been training for the tournament. Hence, I've been spending more time running and doing plyo training and weightlifting and sparring drills than writing. So, once again, I apologize for currently being a workout-aholic, but after the tournament is done I'll try to set aside a part of my day for writing. **

**Okay, now for _Invader. _It's longer than I had planned (at 300 pages in 12 font size, which is the approximate length of the previous four books, and I'm only halfway done with _Invader _plotwise) but I don't want to divide it into two books because I have the ending for book 5 all planned out (and it is completely incredible and unexpected, believe me) and I already have the drafts for the other five books. Anyway, it's rather hard to explain without giving away the entire series plot away, so all you have to know is that chapter 14 marks the end of Part I to _Invader. _Part II will open with a first-person Prologue, which will be followed by chapter 15. Got it? Goo – I mean WICKED :P**

**And I really don't feel like writing a Disclaimer. Anyway, it's kinda no-duh that I don't own _Star Wars. _By the way, did any of you read the short stories I posted? What did you think? Oh yes, thanks to all the fans of _Galactic War _for their various forms of support (which include PMing me and asking me why the _haran _I haven't been posting on a regular basis. Believe it or not, I really appreciate that people contacted me to tell me they wanted me to update; it really got me motivated to get out the dreaded red pen and finish editing chapter 14. You guys are seriously awesome!)**

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Chapter 14

_"A great leap forward often requires taking two steps back." – _Jedi saying

✶ Kuat City Hotel, 0730, 406 Days ABG✶

"Crisis on Kuat!" the reporter on HNE declared with a neutral, robotic facial expression that belied the gravity of his announcement. "Following the devastating bombing of the White Hat Cafe in District 15, KDY reports the horrifying news that the six prototypes of a new ship model were stolen from their factory! The principal director of the facilities, Onara Kuat, is refusing to speak to our reporters, though she assures the local constabulary the company security is dealing with the matter. Kuat police was alerted of the break-in this morning when the bodies of twenty KDY guards were found in the facility. Authorities say the deaths were caused by a lightsaber, which gives the police cause to suspect Jedi having a hand in the theft. Has the Jedi Order double-crossed the Republic?"

"Farcical!" Andora spluttered. "The very notion of it –––"

"Turn this poodoo off," Marya agreed irritably.

"Shut up, bantha!" Aedan yelled, stuffing his face with root chips as if he were watching a holovid instead of a news report. Due to Marya's vestigial horns, which remotely resembled the horns on a bantha, Aedan thought it an immense joke to call her that animal.

Aedan annoyed Kay to death, but for once, she welcomed his outburst; it was important for the team to hear the entire report. She smiled as she looked around the room. _If anyone is spying on us, they would never think that we are a group of lethal, experienced commandos and Jedi officers._ In fact, she was sure they looked completely ridiculous at the moment. At 0730 in the morning, after a generally sleepless night, everyone looked particularly grungy and groggy-eyed. She and several other Padawans and clones lay sprawled on three bunks which had been pushed together to form one big backless couch. Her head pillowed on Adriaan's stomach and her feet propped on Ammo's back, Kay doodled on her datapad, which held the contents of the message Elsil had dropped before her rather untimely demise. Even though the deadline for the "party" mentioned in the communication had passed, Kay still found the code vital information that needed to be deciphered. What if the cultists accidentally leaked out another piece of scrambled Intel? Decoding this one message could help them uncover the operation's cipher.

"I think that's what Elsil's message was talking about," Cor said, pointing to the holoscreen. Kay had to agree.

"Shhh!" Wolf, Ember, and Klamin hushed simultaneously, their eyes glued to the screen. The holo had suddenly switched from an image of the mundane news desk to an interview with Giddean Danu.

"What do you think caused the Jedi to do this?" the reporter was asking the Kuati senator.

Even on the tiny, grainy image on the hotel's holo system, Giddean's face was clearly outraged. "Hold on a second, since when do you automatically point fingers at organizations which have done nothing but work for the good of the Republic? To say that the Jedi Order is responsible for the prototype theft is frankly preposterous!"

"Senator Danu, perhaps you would like to state your reasons for thinking the Jedi are innocent, despite contrasting evidence?" the HNE reporter asked condescendingly.

"First of all, you may not be aware as I am, but the evidence does _not _contrast with my conviction of the Jedi's innocence. There are other sects of lightsaber users besides the Jedi Oder, sects which are not as friendly to the Republic as the Jedi are. For example, I have recently been informed of groups called sith cultists who fester in the underworld of the galaxy, seeking to terrorize innocent citizens and lure unsuspecting Jedi teams into their nets. I have cause to believe our planet may be plagued with a cultist group."

"If that has been so, Senator, why have you not sent in a request to your Jedi friends to rat out these cultists?" the woman asked in an accusatory tone, as if she held Danu personally responsible for the disaster.

"After a discussion with Onara Kuat, I sent a message to the Council just this morning, requesting that they dispatch a Jedi team immediately."

"And we have your assurances, Senator, that only a noninvasive Jedi task-force will be sent here, and not an entire clone regiment?"

Danu adjusted his stately white hat stiffly. "I respect the wishes of our people not to have our planet occupied by the military, but after all, we _are _the Grand Army's top navy manufacturer, and they feel a responsibility to protect our world. If this problem persists despite Jedi interference, a Grand Army contingent will no doubt be sent in. The Republic's interest is to defend, not control."

Giddean faded out, and the reporter turned to the holocam. "Stay tuned to HNE for instant, twenty-four hour coverage of the KDY break-in. This is Inche Moni, live at KDY headquarters. Back to you, Angg."

Despite the assurances of live coverage of the KDY incident, the news turned to celebrity life. When it began to talk of Sheen Tay's recent breakup with a star bolo-ball player, Adriaan switched the screen off, despite the protests from some of the more worldly people of the group. Kay really didn't care to hear about the singer's inability to maintain any stable, lasting romantic relationship; she found her own life much more interesting than the grossly dramatic lifestyles of shallow, transparent celebrities.

Darc, a white bandage wound around his empty eye socket, sat up in bed suddenly and announced, quite clearly and unexpectedly, "I dated Sheen Tay once."

"Really?" Klamin asked, feigning interest. "Sorry it didn't work out for you." Kay glanced at Adriaan and was grieved to see the pained look that shot through her Master's normally impeccable expression. All morning, Darc had been switching from drooling and staring vacantly into space to suddenly sitting up to make some random remark, and it clearly worried Adriaan. _ It must be horrible to watch your friend lapse into insanity, _Kay thought.

"Any moment now," Klamin said, morphing into a Fosh and preening his vibrant feathers swankily.

Kay, puzzling over what Elsil might've meant about the blue eyeshadow and black cocktail dress, looked up. "Did I miss something or something?"

Just then Adriaan's comlink rang. It seemed that it had hardly started buzzing when it was in the Knight's hand. Adriaan pressed the button, and a holo of the principal director of KDY shimmered in her palm. "Right on time," the GAR general said lightly.

"I presume you pay attention to the news, then?" Onara asked curtly.

Adriaan shrugged. "Off and on. I'm about as fond of the media as you made out to be in this morning's report."

"Ambassador Rain, if that is indeed your name, I have to tell you that I utterly loathe liars."

"How horrible it must be to hate oneself," the Knight remarked dryly.

Onara drew in her breath sharply, expressing her indignation. "I would not speak so to one of your most important allies if I were you. I know what you are."

"Yes, I am the only one in the galaxy you know personally who has one of the _Firespray _prototypes."

"I do not come asking to buy it back, for I know you did not purchase it for yourself."

"Correct; I acquired it for the Goba Shag fleet, of course. I represent the Queen of Goba Shag in this matter."

"No, for your army. The Grand Army of the Republic."

Adriaan didn't appear taken aback. In fact, she smiled. "So Giddean told on himself, eh?"

"No, the imbecile kept his mouth shut, to his credit. It was actually the Jedi Council who informed me."

Adriaan's smile didn't waver, but her posture stiffened just the tiniest bit, and her tone became more sinister. Kay could read the signs that Adriaan was clearly not pleased that it had been the Council who had compromised her operation. "Really? Now _that _takes me by surprise, it really does. Well, what did they say? That they're sending a more capable team to handle the situation, since I am obviously not competent?" she asked caustically.

The principal director smoothed the elaborate pleats adorning her opulent, fuchsia-tinted robes. "On the contrary, they said I need not wait nor worry, as the appropriate taskforce ––– you ––– was already covertly operating here, under Danu's supervision. While I frankly am at odds with my planet's representative in the Senate, I approve of Giddean's decision to secretly bring in a team in the hopes these terrorists could be dealt with and the entire situation kept hush-hush. However, I am _not_ pleased at all that he withheld your identity from _me, _the head of KDY._"_

"Your sentiments are understandable, Senator," Adriaan said with a mockingly gallant bow.

"Then you must understand why your presence here must now be made public."

"You must know better than I what's best for your people," the general growled. "Besides, I'm afraid our cover was already blown; we are already known to the terrorists, the people we would've best liked to stay hidden from. The inconvenience of being public superheros can no longer be avoided, I'm afraid."

"Good. Then I will make the announcement over the news tomorrow afternoon, and I hope you will appear on-camera with me, so the people will be reassured that you are indeed on the case, and not merely a fabrication conjured up by Kuat's leaders for the sake of pacifying the masses."

"I thank you, but I would prefer not to appear on the news," Adriaan said politely.

Onara paused delicately, then said slowly, "It was not a request, Jedi, but a command. You must understand why it is important for your face to be recognized by the populace; beings truly live by the saying 'seeing is believing', especially in these strange times. You and your crew will appear in full uniform by tomorrow at noon. After a brief interview on-camera, you will commence in your task to retrieve the prototypes and blueprints from the enemy."

"Ma'am, let me make this clear to you," General ell Talaan said calmly, her tone still courteous, to her credit. "My orders here are to rout out this terrorist organization and prevent a Separatist invasion, though my initial objective was to lure General Grievous into a trap. The prototypes ––– as you said to the reporters ––– are your own problem, so it is appropriate that your people should handle it."

"Your Council seemed to state that your objectives were otherwise."

"If that is so, I have not been informed of it," Adriaan replied frostily.

"Then I think you should speak to your superiors about it. Because you may not be aware, but we designed these ships specifically for the Republic Army's use, upon an executive command from the Chancellor himself. So you comprehend that the schematics should not fall into enemy hands, lest the Separatists use these magnificent ships to their own advantage."

"If you manufactured them for the GAR, why did you sell one to what you thought was the Goba Shag Embassy?" General ell Talaan asked sharply.

Onara floundered for a moment, caught off-guard by the blunt question. "The Chancellor did not indicate we were not allowed to sell them to Republic citizens; we were just to design and manufacture a squadron of these ships for Core patrol security," she said finally.

"Lame excuse!" Adriaan snapped. "You may think you're a very clever businesswoman, ma'am, but I know your kind. Lying, thieving, bribing, back-stabbing, good-for-nothing Hutt spawns. You politicians are all the same."

"Better get used to it, as you're working for me now," Onara replied frostily, her eyebrows drawing together in a clearly enraged glower.

"No, I am _not; _I am working on behalf of the Republic, and am free to leave as my commanding officers dictate. I may be on your side, but I'd be stupid to trust you. I have been well-informed of your political history. Don't you dare try to double-cross the Republic, because I'm watching you." Then she cut the link before the principal director could retort.

"Sweet exit," Ammo commented. "Nice and dramatically threatening. Think she'll be stupid enough to call back?"

"Even if she does, I'll be busy," the Jedi said implacably, punching in a set of numbers into her comlink.

"Oh no," Kay said, recognizing the grim look on her Master's face. "Please don't be doing what I think you're doing."

"Oh, yes I am," Adriaan replied unyieldingly.

"Master, I implore you, if you are without question comming who I conjecture, pray articulate with a soupcon more cordiality than you did the previous episode," Andora begged.

The Jedi Knight doggedly punched in the numbers. "Not everyone has your gift of courtesy, Andora."

"Then license me to parley with them!" Andora pleaded.

"Not everyone has the gift of making sure things go my way," Adriaan answered, just as a miniature holo of Jedi Masters Mace Windu, Shaak Ti, and Yoda appeared.

"What was that, Master ell Talaan?" Mace Windu asked sharply. "I only caught the last few syllables of your sentence."

"Oh, I was merely berating my Padawan Andora for speaking flagrantly about her superiors," she answered innocently.

"I can't imagine the commendable Padawan Andora doing such a thing," Mace said suspiciously.

"Well, she's grown up quite a bit since last you saw her. I'm afraid she's entering the…rebellious stage," Adriaan remarked wryly, to her student's immense mortification.

Shaak Ti folded her arms, her exotic headtails swaying and shimmering in the grainy holo image. "I presume you have not called for the sole purpose of showing us how you discipline errant Apprentices?" she said dryly.

The rebel Knight bowed. "Very perceptive, Master Shaak Ti."

The Padawans all squirmed, feeling the tension pulsing underneath the facade of gallant charm and courtesy. Kay wished now that Adriaan would just drop the act and let loose all her frustration and rage, even if it meant cussing out three prestigious Jedi Masters.

"You have also not called for the explicit purpose of complimenting Shaak Ti's perceptiveness," Mace prompted, raising an eyebrow.

"Since I never call you guys for a nice 'how-are-you' chitchat, yes," ell Talaan answered lightly. "Just to let you know, I am…_extremely _displeased that the Council decided to take _my _mission into their own hands by jeopardizing my team's identity without my permission."

"You dare to contradict the news reports and tell us that the situation in Kuat is under control?" Mace challenged.

"The aura of being under control has not been maintained, but the situation is still in control," Adriaan said abstrusely. "When you gave me the responsibility of this assignment, I can only assume you did so because you thought me capable of handling it without your interference. So why the _haran _did you disrupt my operation if you gave me this mission in the first place?"

Aedan raised a hand and opened his mouth. Kay made a cutting motion across her throat, but the Wicked King paid no attention. "Master GOOD –––"

"That's _General _ell Talaan to you!" the Knight snapped, whirling on him vehemently.

"I see you're still refusing to be acknowledged as a _Jedi _General," Mace said. "Ell Talaan, let us be frank: do you still wish to continue to be a member of our Order? Because nothing is preventing you from dropping out."

Adriaan turned back to the holo. "And if I pull out, what will happen?" she asked bitterly. "The only reason I'm a General now is because I am also a Jedi: if the title as Jedi Knight is taken away, will my rank in the army also be forfeited?"

The Masters exchanged glances. "That would be discussed," Kit Fisto said finally. "But you would probably be allowed to keep your command."

"And if I leave the Order, what will become of the Padawans you entrusted to my care?" she persisted.

"They would be reassigned to a different Jedi," Shaak Ti said.

"Ooh! Ooh! I call WICKED Anakin Skywalker!" Nic screamed.

"I called him first!" Andre argued.

"Hey, GOOD –––" Aedan attempted, but he was sternly hushed by Kay Lee before he could elaborate any further.

Her Master smiled in a way that would have freaked out a Wookiee, exposing all her perfect teeth in a wolfish snarl. Kay had come to recognize that smile as an indicator that Adriaan had just found an extremely clever and diabolical way to turn the situation to her own advantage. "But who would want them?" she said quietly. "Mace, seriously, look: if I leave, you guys are going to get stuck with the Wicked Club. There is no other Jedi Master stupid or reckless enough to Apprentice them."

"All too true," Kit conceded. "It would be a tragic loss to our Order if you left, Master ell Talaan. With your Master gone, you are quite possibly the greatest combatant trainer in the Jedi Order. Now you see that we indeed value you very highly."

"You value my services, you mean," she said with a sardonic smirk. "But I appreciate that I am viewed as a top contributor to your society, nonetheless."

"Hey, Adriaan, I've got something WICKED to say," Aedan began. Adriaan turned to glare at him.

"Don't you always?" she barked.

"No, really, it's important," he insisted, unruffled by her austere demeanor.

"What, do you need to use the refresher?" Adriaan hissed, putting her hand over the holoreceiver so the Jedi Masters couldn't hear what she was saying.

"It's about the WICKED _Firespray,_" Aedan whispered back.

She sighed. "For the last time, you are absolutely _never _going to sit in the pilot seat of that ship…"

"Of course I will, GOOD!" Aedan shouted. "But that's not the point. It's what you said to Onara."

"That I'm watching her?" she asked, confused.

Aedan stamped his foot. "No, GOOD! That you're the only half-WICKED she knows who has a WICKED _Firespray."_

"So?"

"Well, wouldn't the GOOD cultists also know that you have a _Firespray?_"

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Why would they know that?"

"Because they manage to stay one WICKED step ahead of you all the time," he said complacently.

She blinked. "And how do you know that?"

"You GOODLY said so."

Adriaan stared at him as if he had just spoken a language completely alien to her. "I think Aedan's sick," she announced abruptly. "Because this has been the second time in a row that he's said something intelligent."

"Are you done worshipping my WICKEDNESS?" Aedan demanded. "Because if you are, I can go and check on the ship to make sure the GOODS aren't attempting to steal it."

The Jedi gawked, then suddenly threw back her head and laughed. "I don't know what's gotten into you," she said. "But I'm not going to sit around like a drunken Hutt and let a good opportunity like this pass by." She dug into her pocket and tossed him the ship access card. "I can't believe I'm doing this, but I'm sending you to go check the ship's status. Keep your bead link online and alert me if anything goes wrong."

"He shouldn't go alone," Kay interjected. "That would be foolhardy."

The general blinked again, then smiled at Kay. "I knew I kept you around for some reason."

"I will chaperone him, tutor," Andora said suddenly, stepping forward.

The Wicked Club members immediately raised a ruckus, each one vying to get Aedan's attention. "No, don't let a GOOD accompany him ––– take a WICKED! Pick me! Pick me!"

"Are you sure, Andora?" The team's commanding officer shouted over the din.

The girl nodded solemnly. "I have corroborated the capacity to operate congruously with my womb mate in the past, as you are cognizant of," she reminded her Master.

Kay understood immediately. Back on Umbria, Aedan and Andora had held off the formidable General Grievous all by themselves until their Master had arrived to transport them to safety, via jumping off the roof of a Separatist base to land on a craggy landscape thousands of meters below. Neither of the twins had cared to elaborate about their fight with the droid general, but Kay could tell that the experience had strengthened the rather rocky relationship between the two.

Adriaan, of course, knew well what Andora was referring to, too. She placed a hand on the boy's shoulder and pressed the girl's hand with her own, bending so that she was eye level with the two Apprentices. "Go, and may the Force be with you," she said softly. She looked aside at Aedan's cohorts, who were shooting daggers at Andora, and as an afterthought said, "I think it would be best if you brought your, uh…disciples along with you, Aedan."

The Wicked Club let out a triumphant scream and rushed forward to overwhelm their mentor with a display of gratitude which she was loth receive. Standing up quickly, she released them and made a shooing motion with her hands, and they swiftly scampered out the door.

When the door had shut, the Jedi Knight heaved a deep sigh. Suddenly, she appeared very old and gray, her shoulders hunched over, her ragged hair draping over a sober mouth and eyes whose charismatic yellow fire had been quenched by a sheen of silver film. But the apparition of a world-weary woman passed as quickly as it had come as she abruptly straightened and flipped the holo back on, her wan face becoming flushed, her gold hair vibrant as it waved around her head like grass delighting in a cool summer breeze.

Mace Windu, apparently unruffled by the long wait, folded his arms. "I sense a disturbance in the Force: is there a problem?"

Adriaan looked at Kay and jerked her chin at the door, indicating that she wanted to continue the conference alone. Reluctantly, the Padawan began to herd the others out of the room. "No more than usual. Sorry, I think the disturbance you're sensing is me," the maverick Jedi said flippantly. "Now, let's pick up where we left off, shall we? I believe I was about to launch another one of my famous tirades."

Kit Fisto flicked his head tails. "I can hardly wait to hear of what you are going to be complaining about _this_ time," he quipped.

"She's not so GOOD," Nic commented as they made their way towards the landing platform.

"What are you talking about? She's a woman; of _course _she's GOOD!" Andre insisted.

"I do not fathom why you should discriminate aptitude by gender –––" Andora began.

"I don't care if she's GOOD or not, because at least she's a WICKED teacher," Heatrian said. This was greeted by murmurs of assent.

"She's taught us WICKED combat moves I don't even think GOOD old Yoda knows," Nic said.

"And she doesn't try to shove all that GOOD 'attachment is forbidden' poodoo down our WICKED throats," Andre added.

"Someone told me that she and her Master won two Galactic ballet championships a couple of years ago," Jahn Pal said solemnly.

"Ballet?" Andre scoffed.

"I think he WICKEDLY meant 'Taikaido'" Nic corrected hastily.

"No, he meant ballet," Sai'wer said dreamily. "Aedan champion ballerina –––"

"Ballet is for GOOD old pansies!" Aedan thundered, precipitously breaking out of his ruminations.

"Womb mate! Where did you assimilate such an execrable locution?" Andora gasped.

"Oh, my dear Andora, you must not get so riled up," Jahn Pal said. "Aedan is actually being very courteous today."

"Yeah, usually he says worse words!" Sai'wer said reassuringly.

"Namely?" Andora asked, horrified.

"Like 'shut up', 'stupid', 'geriatric'…"

"I miss WICKED Terry; he was the only one who knew how to get GOOD old Jahn Pal and Sai'wer to clam up," Andre said arbitrarily.

"Shut up," Aedan said.

"Aedan!" Jahn Pal, Sai'wer, and Andora exclaimed in horror. "Where did you assimilate such a naughty vocable?"

"Your mama," Andre said crossly. No one outside the group would realize it now, but a year ago, Andre had been a lighthearted, happy-go-lucky chatterbox. After Umbria, Andre ––– known as the WICKED destructo-machine ––– had become less lively and more mature and dour. The war had taken its toll on him just as it had with everyone else.

Heatrian grimaced. "Oh, please, not the GOOD 'your mama' jokes again. They're not that WICKED."

"They used to be," Aedan said surlily.

Nobody answered, because they all knew "Your mama" had been Kien's favorite line. The unofficial comedian of the club had been ruthlessly slaughtered by Grievous, and they all felt his absence like a gnawing ulcer in their guts.

"Does anyone pine for poor Minir?" Andora asked sadly.

"Oh, sure; sometimes I just totally crave watching GOOD Minir throw one of his famous WICKED temper tantrums," Andre said.

Andora stared. "I deem it an insensitive and asinine compulsion to lampoon those who are joined with the Force."

"I wasn't mocking, GOOD."

"You're being facetious."

"Your mama."

"I don't have a mother."

"Speaking of mothers, we're coming up on the WICKED landing platform," Heatrian said with ill-disguised relief as the landing dock came into view.

"What do landing platforms have to do with GOOD old mothers?" Nic quipped.

"Cut the chatter, WICKEDS!" Aedan snapped. "Execute Action R3C0N-WEIRDOS."

"Elucidate," Andora commanded.

"Scout out the platform and watch for GOODS. If you're spotted, just act natural; you know, like a psychotic weirdo who's high on spice."

The Pyronite slouched a few meters forward and stiffened till he was the consistency of the durasteel bin he was crouching behind. "Three point four-five, watch it," he said tersely.

"My, we're getting rather UNWICKEDLY technical, aren't we, GOOD?" Andre remarked.

"Don't look now, but I sense someone GOOD approaching from your right peripheral view. Get down!" Heatrian hissed.

"No, just act natural!" Aedan argued as his sister yanked him down behind some crates of muja fruit. The remainder of the Wicked Club scattered, melting into the shadows.

A few moments passed where nothing could be heard except the dull puff of a murky breeze drifting across the open platform. Andora crouched on the balls of her toes, wincing as Aedan's hot, putrid, lusty breath exhaled against her arm as he tried to wriggle his head into a place where he could see between the two crates they were hiding behind. She shoved her elbow into his jaw as a signal for him to be still and quiet, but that only made him twice as loud and wriggly. The Kuati sun, beginning its rise into the sky, somehow found its way through the cracks of the crate and glared right in her eyes, blinding her. Perspiration seeped through her skin and made her clothes cling uncomfortably to her body. A fly buzzed lazily over her head and landed on the exposed skin of her neck, pricking her sensitive epidermis. Her gut squirmed as she forced herself to remain still and ignore the annoying bug. Aedan belched quietly yet loud enough to make Andora cringe, but she was thankful the noise brushed the fly away. As her brother continued to squirm and pant, she rolled her eyes up to the sky in a silent plea for help, and then she tensed.

The atmosphere had changed. No longer was the platform muggy, dull, and quiet; a soft, chilly tendril of wind picked up and snaked across her body, instantaneously cooling her skin. But it was far from comforting; a cold hand seemed to creep into her very being, freezing her bones, her brain, her heart, her soul ––– killing all thought, all reasoning, leaving only an overwhelming urge to leave cover and flee.

The dark side had come.

There was a faint _click _in her ear, and Andora jumped as if a gun had just been pressed against her temple. "Relax; I sense it too," Heatrian said over the bead comlink. "Steady on…"

"Who died and made you GOODLY in charge here?" Aedan growled into the link.

"Sorry, WICKED," Heatrian said compunctiously. "Whenever you're ready."

_Click. _Andora grew taut again. "I have a visual," Andre said. "Coming up on your six."

"Whose six?" Andora asked, hearing the dreaded _clunk _of a soft footstep hitting the platform…yes, behind _her. _"Disregard."

"Just act natural," Aedan repeated.

Andora looked around, trying not to look or sound frantic. "So the terrorist discerns two preteens squatting behind some fruit receptacles ––– either he's going to presume we're just a couple of hooligans toking dope, or he's going to forthwith conjecture we've been dispatched to apprehend him."

"How do you know this guy's a GOOD terrorist?" Aedan asked calmly.

The dark side of the Force surged, seeking to overpower her. Andora had half a second to shove her brother out of the way and dive for the ground herself when a missile flew over their heads and crashed into the crates.

_BLAM!_

The explosion sent her flying another five meters forward, smashing her face into a grate on the runway. She felt a body land heavily on top of her, knocking the breath from her body. Shoving her brother off of her, her fingers deftly withdrew a servodriver from Aedan's pocket, and she quickly unscrewed the grate and eased it out of its hole. Andora didn't know if the attacker had spotted them yet, but she only had seconds left before he did so and fired again, and she wanted to make sure the two of them were gone by the time the smoke had cleared and the terrorist had reloaded, in the hopes that the cultist would automatically assume that they had been pulverized by the first shot. Praying that the tunnel she had opened up wasn't a sewage system flooded with waste water, the girl rolled Aedan through the hole and crawled in after him.

It turned out it wasn't part of the water works of the city, but a vent used to circulate cool air on the platform. Her hands jumped back as they encountered the durasteel floor, which was as cold as ice. But the tunnel wasn't big enough for her to walk in, and she couldn't crawl without her hands, so she placed them back on the vent, wincing as the metal leached the warmth from her skin. She advanced a couple meters forward and hit her head against her brother's buttocks. Prodding Aedan forward by repeatedly headbutting his behind, she stuffed her hands into the long sleeves of her robe to help keep them warm and continued to worm forward.

_Clank._

The twins came to a standstill, their breath steaming in the cool vent. They both went rigid as another foot landed right above their heads. _Clank._

The terrorist was looking for them.

_Clank. _The man ––– or woman ––– was standing right on top of Andora. She slowly put her forehead against her hands and lay still, hardly daring to breath as the terrorist paused above.

"Gotcha," a voice ––– male, slightly metallic-sounding ––– breathed gleefully. Andora forced down the scream that rose from the pit of her stomach. She had led them into a trap. All the terrorist had to do was fire another missile down into the vent, and they were done for…

_Clank clank clank clank clank…_The footsteps receded into the distance.

In front of her, Aedan giggled audibly. "He thinks he WICKEDLY got us in the first shot," he whispered.

"Shhh," his sister susurrated.

"WICKED King, is that you? You guys WICKED?" Nic asked quaveringly over the link.

"We're in the pink," Andora replied.

One of the boys ––– Andre ––– exhaled noisily. "Sheesh! That scared the poodoo out of me."

"Is there any way you GOOD old organics can breathe any quieter?" Heatrian demanded.

"Shut up, rock; we have an audible," Jahn Pal said.

"And a tastable," Sai'wer added. "I didn't know terrorists tasted like nerf strips…"

"What the GOOD are you guys talking about?" Andre demanded.

"The trigger-happy GOOD is approaching the WICKED _Firespray,_" Nic announced.

"Wait, did you just call me a GOOD _rock?" _Heatrian asked Jahn Pal. "Perhaps you do not yet realize the GOOD egregiousness of your statement, for in WICKED Pyronite culture, being called a rock is the most offensive insult."

"I know," Jahn Pal said.

Heatrian growled. "Why you little GOOD –––"

"Hey, the GOOD terrorist dude is trying to get into the ship. What's the WICKED plan?" Nic asked desperately.

"Jahn Pal will WICKEDLY jump out and distract the GOOD," Heatrian began.

"But the GOOD will just blast the UNWICKED's head off with a missile," Nic reminded him.

"Precisely."

"I see some light ahead," Aedan said to his twin.

"We must be advancing toward another grille," Andora said. "Progress, make haste!"

They slithered forward until they found the source of light, which was indeed another grate. At a nod from his sister, Aedan slid underneath the grille and laid down on his back, tucking his knees into his chest. Andora's hand went down the handle of the holdout blaster one of the clones had let her borrow. Adriaan hadn't given her the go yet to use her lightsaber in public, so she was going to keep it concealed until the last possible moment.

Aedan took a deep breath, then kicked out at the grate. With a metallic _pop, _it was disengaged from the socket and sent flying into the sky. With a heroic yell, Aedan catapulted himself out of the tunnel, brandishing a disruptor rifle. Andora flipped the safety off her blaster and followed, using the Force to get her bearings.

The vent had barfed them out right at the foot of the _Firespray's _ramp. A figure dressed in nondescript tan coveralls stood at the top of the ramp, fiddling with the control panel of the door. The man turned at the noise, revealing a wrist rocket on his forearm as he aimed the device at the children.

"WICKED!" Aedan screamed, diving for cover as the man fired. Andora hit the dirt and rolled to a crouching posture, keeping herself facing the attacker. Steadying her aim by bracing her elbows on her knee, she fired at the terrorist, targeting the wrist.

The shot hit the wrist rocket, blasting the implement off the man's arm. The cultist shrieked, clutching his burnt limb, then reached down into the folds of his coveralls, grappling for a concealed weapon. Without waiting to figure out what it was, Aedan Force-pushed the man backward so that he was smacked against the unforgiving door of the ship. The Jedi Apprentice dropped the man, fully expecting him to collapse, but the terrorist sprung to his feet like a loose helical spring and threw out his hand.

Andora yelped as an invisible force grabbed at the blaster in her hand, but her fingers clutched tightly at the handle, refusing to let go. She fired again, but the terrorist dodged the shot, flinging both arms forward and picking the twins up so that they dangled in midair.

Aedan choked, clawing at the collar of his Aquahawks jersey. Andora swallowed, feeling invisible fingers squeeze her jugular vein. She remembered her Master teaching her the self-defense technique to use when someone was Force-choking her, but the man's grip on her throat was so tight her brain was devoid of any thought except, _I can't breathe. I'm going to die._

Her brother roared, waving his arms wildly. His shouts seemed to come from kilometers away, instead of the proximity of half a meter. Her vision bleached to a nebulous grayscale, and her body began to feel like a thick, numb block of ice. Right when she was on the verge of passing out, Andora miraculously recalled the technique and pummeled the terrorist back with a Force push, whacking the man so hard against the ship that he lost his grip on the two, sending them crashing back to the platform. Someone near her wheezed violently, and as her lungs swelled with oxygen Andora realized the terrifying noise had come from herself. All three opponents recovered at the same instant and charged simultaneously. The man had a thermal detonator in his hand now; his arm was curling back for the throw…

_Jordin began to run toward the man, hoping that the explosive would sail over her. But what she didn't know was that her attacker had timed the throw to fall short of her. It arced down and hit her on the head._

_ "Down!" A clone screamed. Andora dropped to the floor, the blood pounding in her ears as she covered them, pressing her face against the dirt. All she could think was, _Good Force, not Jordin; no, she can't die that way. Not like this.

_Adriaan howled violently, her hands going up and clapping against her ears as she hit the dirt. "Take cover!" she yelled, but Andora dared to lift her head to see Jordin one last time, one more time before the bomb would blow her beautiful red head from her body, would take yet another child casualty in the war…_

_ Her Master's pinky finger wiggled, and the movement was so tiny yet odd enough to call to Andora's attention. And then she saw the thermal detonator sailing through the air, but away, away…_

Because of Master ell Talaan's quick reflexes, Jordin had lived, but not to giggle another day. She lived to fight not for the welfare of the galaxy, but for her own life; spending the rest of her days lying on a stiff, rigid bunk in the medical center at the Jedi Temple, unable to talk, unable to eat on her own, unable to continue her training, to fulfill her purpose in life…

They said that comatose people could hear what was going on around them. Would Jordin be aware of her surroundings for the rest of her life? Would she be tormented by the voices of happy, active children like herself growing up, learning new things, becoming great Jedi Knights, while she lay in a sedimentary, non-progressive state, like a flower cut off from life and left on a counter to wither.

Andora didn't want to end up like Jordin and live like a vegetable for the rest of her life. She had so much left to accomplish, so much more to learn, so many lives to save…even a little goody-goody, insignificant girl had ambitions.

She was determined not to become yet another casualty of a war which was to take thousands.

So she grabbed the thermal detonator with the Force and sent it hurling into the heavens, little caring if it never fell, as long as it didn't fall on her, her companions, the ship, or the terrorist, who was in possession of Intel they could use. She just had to get it out of the way, get the death ball out of her sight.

The other five Wicked Club members revealed themselves, leaping out of their hiding spots and racing for the ship. The man didn't seem to register that he was no longer holding the detonator, for his arm stood locked in mid-throw, his stance petrified. At the sound of the cries of six bloodthirsty boys, however, he was compelled back into movement. Deftly, he reached into his coveralls and withdrew a shiny cylindrical object that was more than four times as long as the hilt of Andora's lightsaber. He grazed his thumb across the shell, and a golden-orange shaft blazed forth. The sith shrieked gleefully and lunged at the twins.

The yellow lightsaber snaked out of his hands as he arced toward Aedan and Andora, and, astonished at losing his grip, he stumbled in mid-leap to land awkwardly on the pavement below. The lightsaber blade spun through the air and landed in Heatrian's outstretched "fist" The man shouted and darted toward the Pyronite, but Andora and the other Wicked Club members moved quickly, hemming him in and grabbing his arms and pinioning them behind his back. The man struggled viciously, kicking and clawing and biting, but the five athletic adolescents were able to keep a firm hold on him. The Pyronite, his yellow orbs flashing, looked down at the cylindrical object he clutched in his "hand"

"You know, Adriaan told me that yellow lightsabers are WICKEDLY uncommon these days," he said, rubbing the hilt with a finger. "I think I shall keep this WICKED blade, as it is a rare color. Besides, it matches my WICKED eyes."

"It is mine! It does not belong to one of an inferior race!" the man shouted. Andora held him down as she scrutinized him. He was a small man, built like the razor-thin blade of a lightfoil, otherwise he wouldn't have been so easily held down by five small children, however Herculean and attune to the Force they might be.

"Inferior race? What do you GOODLY mean?" Heatrian demanded. "Pyronites are WICKED! We are natural Force-sensitives."

"Are humans an inferior race, too?" Nic asked curiously.

"Of course not! Now let me go, you dumb kids, or I'll report you to Kuat security!" the man spluttered.

"Oh, I get it. There was a race, and Heatrian is naturally slow, so of course he lost!" Sai'wer said brightly.

"WICKED! Since I'm WICKEDLY human and not an inferior race like Heatrian, _I _get to have the WICKED lightsaber," Andre said, reaching for the hilt.

Heatrian pulled back, his face bursting into flames. "Hey!" he shouted as Andre made a grab for the lightsaber. Andora loosened her hold on the man, sensing that a fight was about to erupt amongst the Wickeds, and if she wanted to bring back the club in one piece she was going to have to forcibly tear Andre out of Heatrian's range. She had hardly moved, however, when the terrorist suddenly broke away, Force-pushing them all flat on their faces as he ran off, heading for the edge of the platform.

"Flee! Hurry, little man, before we catch you!" Sai'wer and Jahn Pal wailed as the others sprang to their feet and pounded after the terrorist.

"Evasive action!" Andora cried as the cultist turned with a holdout blaster in his fist and fired a potshot at the group. The shot ricocheted off the ground and was absorbed harmlessly into the impenetrable skin of the Pyronite. The sith continued to fire, slowing down till he reached the edge of the platform as he turned his head toward his pursuers in order to get a better aim. Aedan suddenly put on a burst of speed and went into a running dive, reaching the terrorist and catching him in the leg with a sweeping kick. The man fell heavily to one knee, adjusting his aim so that the blaster was angled pointblank at Aedan's skull. But Adriaan had taught her Apprentices well; grabbing the man's gun-arm, the youth twisted away from the shot and shoved his elbow into the man's gut, reaching over and snagging the necklace that hung around the cultist's throat. Tugging on the chain, Aedan twisted the piece of jewelry as if it were a garrote, slowing constricting his victim's throat. The ship-jacker coughed and struggled, but the boy grimly held on.

"Surrender, GOOD!" the self-proclaimed monarch said, tugging harder on the chain. The man's pale skin turned purple. "SURRENDER!"

"Aedan!" Andora protested, but it was too late; with a great cry, the cultist threw his head backwards, sending them both catapulting off the edge of the landing platform. Aedan's toe caught on the edge, and he threw his weight backwards, his arms windmilling as he struggled to regain his balance. To the astonishment of everyone, Jahn Pal and Sai'wer were the quickest-thinking of the group, throwing their arms forward and keeping their Wicked King stabilized on the platform with the Force.

The terrorist hung over the abyss, his toes clutching the edge of the port to keep him from being strangulated by the necklace Aedan grimly held on to.

No one moved. Not even a breeze rustled Andora's long brown braid, which had become heavy from her sweat. It was as if someone had hit the pause button in an action holovid. All that could be heard was the short, rhythmic pants of Aedan, his face frozen in a grimace as the muscles of the arm holding the weight of a full-grown man knotted painfully.

"Surrender, and my WICKED companions will lift you to safety," Aedan said quietly.

The man's face was one contorted mass of facial muscles screwed up in agony. "I will never…surrender," he wheezed.

"Why not? You know you've GOODLY lost," Nic said.

Then the cultist smiled, a horrible, feral smirk which spread across his face like an ugly whip-weal. "Yes; I have lost, but you have not won. She may triumph for a day, but your precious Master will not win this war. The galaxy will come under the dominion of the Chosen Race."

"Poodoo," Andre said. "The sith will never be able to rule; the WICKED King's big butt takes up the whole galactic throne. There'd be no room."

"Yeah; it'd have to be done over my dead, GOOD body," Aedan bragged.

The ship-jacker coughed and giggled through the stream of black blood that spat out of his mouth. "That can be arranged," he said.

Then he threw his hand forward, and Aedan was picked up and sent flying backward. Jahn Pal and Sai'wer, startled, dropped their Force-hold on the Wicked King and screamed. But even as Aedan was catapulted away from the edge, his grip on the necklace was strong, stronger even than the chain itself.

_Ping._

The silver necklet snapped in half, snaking through the air and whacking Aedan in the face as he fell hard on his back. The cultist windmilled his arms and shrieked, falling off the edge of the platform. The boys squawked in horror, and Heatrian and Andora ran forward to try to stop the man's fall. But when they neared the edge, it was only to see a limp body smack against a building several hundred meters below.

Andora covered her eyes and turned away, mourning the death of one who sought to take her own life.

Behind her, six boys bowed their heads in silence.

Adriaan had just gotten off the comm with the Jedi Council when the reconnaissance group, minus Andora and Heatrian, walked through the door.

"Hey, that was fast," the Jedi quipped. Apparently, the conversation with Mace Windu had either gone well, or it had at least resparked her old enthusiasm. "Where's Heatrian and 'the Book'?"

"Dead," Aedan said sullenly. There was a gasp of shock that rippled through the group. "I mean, the GOOD cultist is. WICKED Heatrian and GOOD Andora the Book are watching the ship in case reinforcements are sent."

"The ship-jacker is dead? Please, please tell me you didn't leave a big mess for us to clean up," Cor said.

Aedan looked uncomfortable. "Well, not exactly. I mean, I don't WICKEDLY know…he kinda, lost his footing and fell off the dock. So we weren't able to vape the GOOD body."

Ember cast his eyes upwards. "I knew sending those kids to watch the ship was a bad idea."

"There weren't any explicit orders to capture this GOOD and bring him in alive," Nic objected.

"Yeah, but you should know by now that despite the inconvenience of a prisoner, capturing a cultist would be tantamount to finding the load of spice at the end of the Kessel Run. A prisoner is a living, breathing jackpot of Intel," Klamin pointed out.

"Well, a WICKED smart-aleck once said, 'When the GOOD doesn't talk, ask his wallet'" Aedan said.

Kay stared. "And this smart-aleck would be you, I assume?"

"Who said it doesn't really matter," Adriaan said. "What the saying means is what _I'm _wondering."

Andre supplied the explanation. "What the WICKED King means is that if a GOOD won't give us the information we want ––– such as his identification ––– we simply check his GOOD old wallet, where his ID docs are stored. It's a matter of WICKED sense."

"Exactly," Aedan said. "And in this case, it was the cultist who wouldn't talk, but I daresay his WICKED necklace will." He withdrew the broken chain, upon which a black pendant hung.

"Have I seen that before?" Kay asked, squinting closer at the silver etching upon the strange stone.

Adriaan fumbled in her tunic and pulled out a chain, upon which swung a medallion identical to the one in Aedan's hand. "It's the same type of disguised communications device that Wolf found at the crime scene at KDY."

"I'm supposing the cultists figured out we got hold of that one, though, and blocked it from their encrypted link," Wolf said, pointing to the one around the Knight's neck.

"But they don't know that we have this WICKED one yet," Aedan said excitedly. "We could listen in on their GOOD conversations!"

Kay looked at it curiously. "Yes, but do we know how it works?"

"I do," Adriaan said unexpectedly, stepping forward and taking the necklace from her Padawan. She cupped the pendant in her palm, her eyes mere slits as she concentrated. The Force surged throughout the room, followed by the distinct crackle of a comlink channel opening. With a grin, Adriaan handed the device to Kay as tinny voices issued forth from the link.

"…Check in from port-jack still neg. Fruit crate has still not been delivered."

"Oh, GOOD, it's just one of those GOOD talk-show radio channels," Aedan said in disgust. Kay hushed him severely, pulling out a datasheet upon which the original message from Elsil had been written. Nano also extracted a datapad and stylus from his belt, moving closer so that he could listen in as well. The others waited in silence for a moment, eager to figure out what the comlink was saying, but after a few minutes of listening to what appeared to be gibberish the majority soon lost interest and resumed packing up.

"So did the Jedi Council expel you?" Aedan demanded as he followed Adriaan into the next room.

"What?" She halted, puzzled by the inquiry. "Of course not, Padawan; I'm too valuable for them to lose me to the Seppies," she said. "Actually, the conference went tolerably well. I understand their reasoning behind contacting Onara and revealing our true identity as a GAR contingent, but I was just a little miffed that they had done so without my knowledge. But now that's all cleared up now, and I have my orders. We will proceed with Phase II tomorrow."

"Phase II?" Klamin asked, slithering into the room. "What's that?"

"The exciting part," Adriaan answered cryptically.

Klamin raised an eyebrow. "You mean this wasn't the exciting part?"

"This is the part when we sit back and cool our heels. As all scouting out for Intel did was make us look like a pack of adolescent nek battle dogs chasing our tails, the information must come to _us. _And then we make our next move."

"Which is?" Aedan prompted.

Adriaan frowned. "Padawans, my Master taught me that knowing too much about an assignment is unhealthy. You'll just have to be satisfied knowing that _I_ know what we have to do."

"I hate waiting," Klamin said irritably.

"I've got it!" Kay shrieked ecstatically from the next room.

The Jedi Knight grinned. "Who said anything about waiting?" she said, exiting the room.

Being the King of all WICKEDS, Aedan was used to seeing people do crazy things. But the scene he intruded upon as he entered the other room topped all the insane sights he had ever seen. Kay Lee, an invalid not five hours ago, was jumping up and down on her bunk bed so hard it looked like the bedsprings would give away any moment. Even odder still was the sight of about half a dozen clone troopers breakdancing on the floor while the Wicked Club threw pillows at them with a chorus of booing and hissing. Miraculously, Kan continued to snore away on his bunk in the center of the room. Marya stood with her arms folded across her chest, looking on the festivities in disapproval, while Andora had her pristine fingertips poised over her comlink as if she were seriously thinking about calling the police.

And Adriaan stood in the doorway, her hand on her chin as if she were trying to keep her jaw from hanging open. "What, did we win the war or something?" she asked, trying to keep her facial expression neutral.

"Even better," Kay said, laughing. "I'm a genius!"

"Well, I already knew that," Adriaan said generously, holding out her hand for the datapad. "So, are you going to enlighten us with your newfound discovery?"

Kay held the datapad away. "I cracked the code, so _I_ get to read it to you all," she said, with a slight pout.

"Suit yourself." Adriaan jerked her chin at Ember, who gestured for his brothers to cease cavorting and snap to attention. The Jedi Knight hand signaled, and two clones were immediately dispatched to monitor the entrances, in case the enemy tried another "surprise party", as Ammo put it.

Kay, settled back against the cushions, brandishing the necklace and datapad magisterially. "You would have never figured this out!" she bragged to Adriaan.

"Maybe not," Adriaan conceded. "Though I always was good with riddles. But carry on."

The Padawan cleared her throat, tapping the datapad with her stylus. She was obviously enjoying herself immensely. "Two days ago…"

"Thirty-two hours ago," Nano corrected. Kay glared at him and cleared her throat noisily before continuing.

"_Two days ago, _Adriaan was tipped off by a member of the terrorist operation, Elsil Helek. The message contained instructions for the members of the cultist operation to steal the prototypes from KDY, a plot which was set into action last night –––"

"The message _allegedly _contained this information," Ember corrected.

"One more interruption and I'll cut your tongue out!" Kay snapped. "The message, in code, is as follows: _You should have seen Uadjii last night; he ate four bantha burgers before he even remembered to wipe his face with a napkin. Seriously, boys are so gross sometimes. Anyway, the party is two days from now; same place, same time as before. Just make sure you wear your blue-black eye shadow to the event, 'cause that's what all us girls decided to wear. We're all going in matching outfits; black cocktail dress, blue sash, blue-black eye shadow. Okay? I think Bes is planning on having us do that dance we choreographed last year. Remember?_ After the events that occurred at KDY last night, the logical conclusion is that the 'party' is referring to the break-in; the theft was committed at approximately the same hour and location as the time when the robbery of the blueprints was perpetrated about three days ago, thus explaining the part: _The party is two days from now; same place, same time as before. _Is it mere coincidence that two days from the time Elsil delivered her message that the theft of the _Firesprays _was committed? I think not.

"As for Uadjii, he must be the thief who stole the blueprints three days ago. _He ate four bantha burgers before he even remembered to wipe his face with a napkin _means that he killed four KDY guards ––– as we witnessed in the holovid Danu showed us in the briefing ––– before breaking in and stealing the schematics. So I conclude that the sith cultists really don't have a set code; they merely have a set of call-signs and periphrasis to beat around the bush, so to speak."

"Well, you've certainly made things a lot clearer," Klamin said. "But what of the last bit of the message? The part about the dress code?"

Kay frowned. "Well, I haven't precisely figured that part out yet…maybe if someone would dress up in a black cocktail dress and blue-black eyeshadow and such, I could decipher the last bit."

"Do we even own a cocktail dress?" Adriaan asked.

"Actually, yes; it's part of your wardrobe," Kay said casually. "You were supposed to wear it to the Ambassador dinner tomorrow night at Onara Kuat's, remember?"

Adriaan's scowl was as grotesque as a Noghri's face. "We don't have blue-black eyeshadow, or a blue sash."

"Of course we do! It's packed among the rest of your Ambassador's belongings."

"Okay." Adriaan turned to Andora. "Andora, go get the items she requested and put them on."

Andora's face was a mask of horror. "Master, I must object –––"

"I thought Padawans were supposed to _obey_ their Masters," Adriaan remarked, sighing prodigiously. "Well, don't bother telling me why; I can guess. It's against your moral principles to put on a 'scandalous' outfit, I'm assuming?"

"Indubitably." Andora nodded. "In sooth, I would perfervidly advocate that you jettison of the afore articles broached posthaste, before they vitiate your sense of probity."

"Oh, I'm sure any sense of decency I had was destroyed years ago," Adriaan said lightly. "But I would never command you to abandon your principles, Andora. Very well, nobody move; I'll be right back."

She left the room, confident and virile in her army green tanktop and brown leggings. Fifteen minutes later, the door admitted a completely different girl. Robed in a sleeveless black dress, she sauntered in, her blond hair swept back into a messy bun. Gone was the cocky stride, replaced by a sultry swagger. The long Taikaido-style pants that she usually wore had disappeared, leaving her muscular legs bare. Her flat-heeled boots had been replaced by the most fabulous silver gladiator sandals with heels that were at least an inch tall. The dress was the most lowcut garment her teammates had ever seen her wear, exposing her throat, shoulders, and collarbone. Even her face was transformed; her huge eyes seemed bigger with the blue-black highlights, her cheeks pinker, and when she smiled, stars glinted off her lips.

One of the clone troopers dared to wolf whistle. The gorgeous apparition immediately turned into instant-death-on-legs, wisps of hair flying around her face as she loped gracefully across the floor and grabbed the offender by the arm, wrenching it behind his back so forcefully that he began to writhe in agony.

"I don't care if I'm wearing a dress; if you whistle like that again, I'll kick you in the jaw so hard you'll have to eat through a tube for the rest of your life, Ammo," she said pleasantly enough.

"What? You thought I was whistling at _you_?" he asked, feigning surprise. "Nah, I was actually looking at hot Miss Principled here." Adriaan laughed and punched him playfully in the arm as he pointed out Andora, who stood in aghast in the middle of the floor.

"I have had quite a sufficiency of the asinine derision," the girl said finally. "What must the galaxy be coming to, when the virtuous are taunted and the iniquitous exalted?" With a haughty huff, she swept out the door, causing everyone else in the room to roar with laughter.

"Wait a minute, was she referring to _me _as the iniquitous one?" Adriaan asked, when everyone had sobered. "Andora really _must_ be coming to the rebellious age if she dares to censure her own Master."

"Who WICKEDLY cares what the Book thinks?" Aedan laughed hysterically.

"Quiet!" Kay thundered imperiously. "Now, Miss ell Talaan, come over here so I can see you. Good. Now spin around."

Adriaan spun around slowly, striking a model's pose after she made a full circle. "Well, what's the score from the judges' panel?" she asked in a mock-elitist tone.

"You are insufferable," Kay said. She shook her head, frowning. "Sorry, I've got nothing. The eyeshadow makes you look like you got into a fight with some Phlog pirates, but other than that, you look pretty normal."

"I suppose you meant that as a compliment," Adriaan said with a sigh. "Except I don't feel normal."

"You should feel great; you look stunning," Ammo said graciously. Wolf raised his hand as if to slap his brother, who out of long practice nimbly dodged the blow.

"Thanks, but I don't exactly feel stunning, either," Adriaan said wryly. "More like a complete idiot. The last time I wore a dress of any kind was when I was a Padawan, and my Master and I went on an undercover assignment. A Senator's child had been kidnapped and taken to a dignitaries' palace. The palace had a strict dress code, so to get in my Master and I had to get all dressed up. My Master insisted that I wear shorts underneath the dress, and I'm glad I did, because it being a rescue mission ––– which is never a clean extraction, I'm afraid –––we had to fight our way out. Can you imagine crawling through dirty vents, running through crossfire, jumping over security droids, scaling walls, and kicking and punching enemies in a tiny little cocktail dress with two-inch black heels to match? On top of that, I had to do it all while carrying a twenty-seven kilogram, seven-year-old child because the poor thing had been drugged by her captors. It was like dragging a deadweight in a gladiator arena. I still have nightmares about it."

"If you guys don't mind getting back on topic, I think I might have a solution to the dress code problem," Nano spoke up. He tapped on his datapad, bringing up a holomap of the city. "On our way to Kuat Drive Yards yesterday, I noticed a rather hole-in-the-wall cafeteria with an interesting name. _The Black Eye. _It just struck me how close it is to the shipyards, and after Kay made that comment about you looking like you had two black eyes –––"

"Oh," Kay breathed. "That must've been the rendezvous point for the terrorists!"

"Wolf, make a note of _The Black Eye _as a possible meeting place for the cultist operation," Adriaan said. "Though I suppose after they've gotten the ships they won't have a reason to frequent that cafe anymore. Okay, let's move on to Part two: tell us what you've got so far on the terrorist comm frequency."

Kay brought up a file and began to read. "_Check in from port-jack still neg. Fruit crate has still not been delivered. Is the traffic bad or is Uadjii just checking out of the hotel? Do you think he needs help with the luggage?_"

Nano was scribbling furiously on his 'pad. "'port-jack' looks like a combination of two words," he said. "A landing dock is sometimes called a port."

"And a ship-_jacker _was on the hotel's landing dock this afternoon," Kay said excitedly.

"So 'check in from the port-jack still neg' means that the ship-jacker hasn't completed his assignment yet," Adriaan said.

"Well, duh, because I WICKEDLY killed him," Aedan said brightly.

"Don't remind us," Ember said, frowning as he looked over Nano's shoulder. "A derogatory term for a ship is 'crate', so 'fruit-crate' could mean the _Firespray_."

"And it wasn't delivered because the ship-jacker still hasn't checked in from his mission," Kay pointed out.

"Because I WICKEDLY killed him," Aedan repeated proudly.

"_Is the traffic bad or is Uadjii still checking out of the hotel?_" Cor read. "Bad traffic delays people, and 'checking out' is a euphemism for getting killed, so my reasoning is that this phrase means, "Is the mission just taking a long time or has Uadjii been killed?'"

"And 'Do you think he needs help with the luggage' can be translated as, 'Do you think he needs reinforcements'" Kay finished. "Okay, I think we've got the hang of this code."

"Did you get the rest of the message?" Adriaan asked.

"_We'll give him half an hour. Traffic here can be super bad at times, especially during early morning rush-hour. Anyway, we've got more pressing matters at hand. Some relatives are coming to visit us later this week._"

"'Relatives'?" Klamin repeated. "Could that possibly mean, 'Separatist allies'?"

Kay frowned, tracing the letters with her finger. "The first part of the message is clear enough, unless I'm entirely mistaken," she said. "If Uadjii ––– the ship-jacker ––– doesn't check in within half an hour, they're going to send in another team to steal the ship. But before we jump to conclusions about who the 'relatives' might be, let's take a look at the last part of the message."

"_Which relatives? I hope it's Uncle Sheelal, and not our Grandfather. He's such a tyrant._"

Adriaan sat bolt upright. "I can explain that to you all," she said. "Qymaen jai Sheelal was the name of General Grievous before he became the cyborg general of the Confederacy. And the 'tyrant Grandfather' could only be Count Dooku, whose sith name is Lord Tyrannus, and, being a sith, would naturally be regarded as a father ––– or grandfather, as he's rather elderly ––– of the sith cultist operation."

"So which one is coming? Grievous or Dooku?" Marya asked eagerly.

"I hope it's Grievous," Wolf said flintily, his jaw muscles tightening. "I've got a score to settle with him."

"So do I," Aedan added grimly, his fists clenching as he remembered the cruel deaths of his Wicked comrades on Umbria.

"Neither, apparently," Kay said. "_Kyr'tsad's kids _was what the other cultist answered."

"That sounds rather Mandalorianish, if you ask me," Ammo remarked, raising an eyebrow.

"Correct; _Kyr'tsad _is a Mandalorian word. _Kyr _is derived from the root _Kyr'am, _which means 'Death'" Adriaan elucidated. "_Tsad _is Mando'a for an alliance."

"'Death Alliance'?" Kay inquired. "What the heck does that mean?"

"_Kyr'tsad _is the title for a Mandalorian splinter group recently resurrected by Pre Vizsla, the governor of Concordia," Adriaan explained. "They call themselves the Death Watch, and they are currently amassing an anti-clone force composed of Mandalorian warriors for the Separatist army."

"But that's impossible; the Mandalorians became a pacifist culture and joined the Republic years ago," Klamin argued.

"You have obviously not been keeping up with the news," Adriaan said sharply. "Many of the Mandalorians accepted the new pacifist ideals, but the warrior traditions of the Mandalore have existed for millennia, and not all were inclined to give up the lifestyle their ancestors had thrived in. Jango Fett was one of those who conformed to the war culture, as did those Mandalorians who helped Fett train the clone troopers on Kamino. So the warrior Mandalorians are a mixed blessing; without them, the clone troopers wouldn't be half as good the soldiers they are, but had they all become pacifists, the Death Watch ––– Separatist supporters ––– wouldn't be around to plague us."

"Upon asked which 'kids' were being sent, the first cultist answered, 'Atoya and Rune'; then the conversation ended," Kay finished. She snapped her datapad shut and looked around the room. "Does anyone have any idea who Atoya and Rune are?"

"Who they are doesn't matter right now," Adriaan said. "What _I'm _wondering is where the cultists are planning to rendezvous with this Death Watch duo. In the meantime, we need to finish mopping up the mess we made." She paused for a fraction of a second to allow the announcement to sink in, then turned to her least favorite Apprentice. "Aedan, take the necklace and go throw it over the landing platform."

"Why, GOOD?" Aedan asked, surprised at the abrupt change of topic.

"Because I want the cultists to think we never got hold of one of their communications devices and listened in to any of their conversations," Adriaan explained patiently. "I want them to assume the necklace fell with its owner. Besides, I don't really like the idea of having these necklaces lying around us; they're occultish, an open invitation to the dark side. They'll corrupt us."

"Whatever you say, but I still think you're a GOOD." Aedan turned and tossed the necklace at the Wicked Destructo-machine. "GOOD! Go throw that necklace overboard!"

"But I told _you_ to, Aedan," Adriaan pointed out.

"And since when have you seen me do any GOOD work?" Aedan demanded. "There's a reason I keep my WICKED slaves around, eh, Andre?"

"Fatty," Andre muttered, nevertheless scampering off to fulfill his King's request.

"Now, about the ship," the general continued. "I don't want any reinforcements arriving to take it. Do you think we can peel out of here in fifteen minutes?"

"You mean check out of the hotel or actually leave the planet?" Ember asked, his habitual neutral facial expression beginning to slide as his puzzlement increased.

"Leave the planet."

The commander glanced at his chrono. "Sure, we can do it in half that time, but why must we leave Kuat entirely? I thought we were supposed to be preventing a clanker invasion."

"And we are," Adriaan said resolutely. "We're just going to orbit the planet for a few hours. That's all."

"But why?" Ember asked.

"We're going to RV with some relatives of yours," Adriaan replied.

"You mean a contingent of white jobs?" Cor asked. "Oh, please, we can handle this assignment better without the regular troops."

"_Shab, _I hate family reunions," Ammo agreed.

"The arrival of a clone regiment is designed to keep Grievous _away _from Kuat for the time being," Adriaan explained. "I know our initial objective was to lure the droid general in, but the terrorist operation here is a lot deeper than I thought it would be. We've got to resolve the sith cultist crisis before Grievous arrives with his fleet, and the appearance of the clone contingent will buy us a little more time."

"Why are we RVing with them in space?" Wolf asked. "Can't we just give them a landing welcome party or something?"

"We're rendezvousing with them in transit so that we'll arrive on the planet with the entire regiment in tow. It will just look more impressive to the Kuati…these cosmetic details _are_ for the sake of the populace, after all," Adriaan said.

"How many times do I have to tell you that I do not care about the populace?" Cor muttered.

Adriaan sighed. "Cor, of _course_ you care for the populace; after all, you're fighting to keep the Republic people safe, are you not?"

"I'm fighting to keep my _brothers_ safe," he said stiffly.

She huffed, exasperated. "Humor me, okay?"

"Sorry, but I'm not exactly in the humorous mood," Cor said. "I understand why the high-and-mighty regulars have to come charging in here, guns ablaze and whatnot, and I also understand why we have to RV with them in space. All that aside, despite the fact that we've cracked the terrorist cipher and killed about ten of their members, we're still not any closer to expunging them from this planet, and the arrival of additional troops isn't going to do much else other than buy us a little more time to fail our assignment."

"Oh, please, Cor, must you be so pessimistic?" Adriaan asked. "We know that two Death Watch members are being sent here. Isn't that a start?"

"But we don't know _why _Rune and Atoya are being sent, nor do we know where, when, and in what manner they will arrive," Cor pointed out. "Furthermore, we have no idea how to acquire that sort of Intel."

"Well, prior to the war, whenever a Jedi team on a mission needed information to help complete their assignment, all they had to do was contact the Jedi Temple and ask the Archive librarian to get the Intel for them," Kay said.

"_Yes," _Adriaan said slowly. "The only problem is the Temple librarian, Jocasta Nu, is a…well, frankly, she's as bad-tempered as an Aqualish." She began to stumble over her words. "I mean, she totally hates me because when I was a Padawan, I, ah, was kind of a jokester, and she didn't get my sense of humor."

"Oh, I heard about that," Kay said cheerfully. "Something about wiring all her computer keyboards so that they would emit electrical shocks whenever someone touched the keys…"

"I heard Jocasta was so traumatized by the incident that she had a minor heart attack and had to spend a few days in the Temple infirmary," Marya quipped.

"Oh, stories tend to be rather _exaggerated _over time," Adriaan said quickly, her face flushing.

"I could always ask Jocasta to do the research," Kay volunteered. "She always liked me because I was a straight-A student."

"Yes, but you know she hates doing research work for other people," Marya reminded her. "She probably won't do it if the task proves to be tedious."

"Do you know of anyone at the Jedi Temple who would be able to look up this information for you?" Ember asked. Adriaan opened her mouth to answer when suddenly her comlink buzzed.

She looked down at the caller ID, and her face suddenly blanched chalk-white. "What is it?" Klamin asked. "What's wrong?"

"Impossible," she murmured, and then she pressed the button. A tiny holoimage of a thin, sickly looking boy with a crewcut shimmered into view.

"Master," the boy said in a voice that was clearly feminine, and had an oddly familiar lilt to it.

"Jordin," Adriaan answered softly. At the sound of his friend's name being uttered, Kan's eyes snapped open and he suddenly sat bolt upright in bed, his gray irises eclipsed by his dilated pupils, which immediately focused on the shaky image cupped in his Master's palm.

"She's alive!" he whispered.


End file.
